


These Are My Hands, This Is The World

by stellahibernis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Love is complicated, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Burn, a whole bunch of friendships, more of a spiral than a straight line, ninety years of life, winter soldier conditioning etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 128,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: Bucky goes into ice, and Steve is left to deal with it while trying to find a new purpose in a world where everything seems to be up in the air. First things first; get his friends free again, and proceed from there.Bucky goes into ice, knowing that when he wakes up everything will be different. It will have been only a blink for him, but for others it will have been months, maybe even years. Still, there is a truth he knows; you have to save yourself. Others can help, but ultimately you have to be the one to do it.He also knows that sometimes what you need to do to save yourself is incompatible with someone else’s needs or wants. Incompatible with their happiness.Steve can’t help but think they keep finding each other only to lose each other only to find each other only to lose each other again, all the while circling around what exactly they mean to each other, never quite looking straight at it.There is another truth that Steve knows; he can’t take it any longer. The cycle must be stopped.





	1. The World Burns

**Author's Note:**

> This feels like an eternity project, I've been thinking about it since I saw CACW and writing since last summer, feels almost unreal to be posting it.
> 
> About the structure, chapters 1,3 and 5 are shortish, functionally prologue, epilogue and whatever you'd call that one in the middle. An interlude? The bulk of the text is in chapters 2 and 4, so maybe get a cup of tea and settle down comfortably before getting into those. The story runs in two timelines from the starting point, but that should be pretty obvious from the subheadings. At the first half we go forward with Steve and backward with Bucky, and switch around in the middle, continuing forward with Bucky and backward with Steve. I promise this makes sense:D
> 
> I've had fun with this one, even if it occasionally was somewhat frustrating kind of fun, like creative processes tend to be. Hope you guys like it too!

His memories are still patchy and confusing, some of them are fused into one mass instead of being clearly defined separate events, rest are just bits and pieces with chasms of darkness between them, but there are still things he  _ knows. _ This all is familiar. Bucky’s been prepared for cryostasis for what feels like countless times by now. In many ways it’s nothing new.

It’s also true that everything that matters is completely different.

The biggest change, the one that would make all the difference even if everything else was just the same as ever, is that this time it’s his choice. Every time before it was something done to him when he had no other use, regardless of what he thought about it. Often he didn’t think of anything at all; often he accepted it because for all he knew it was as things were supposed to be. Other times he dreaded it or fought it, and sometimes he even craved it; the oblivion and emptiness that followed. This time it’s about safety, about making sure that the triggers in his head won’t be tripped again.

There are too many uncertainties for him to stay awake.

There is the trigger sequence he knows, the ten words that’ll override everything, but there are also others, ones with much simpler set-ups, ones with potentially violent consequences. There is a list of them in the book, probably not a comprehensive one, and no explanation of what will happen when they’re used. There are dozens of words, all of them presumably tied to the main conditioning. They’re extensions and fail safes. Dozens of words, in many languages, and Bucky feels cold thinking that at any time someone might have said one of them to him. It did happen once, but he was lucky then, lucky that the command was to flee rather than kill. He knows the next time might be worse, might result in dozens of dead civilians.

Truth be told, he hates the idea of cryostasis, but he’s done putting others in danger if there’s a way to protect them, even if it means that there’s a price to pay for him. He hates being uncertain due to his own head even more than the idea of the cold sleep.

That’s why he’s now sitting on the gurney, clad in clothes made of soft fabric. There are no restraints, no restricting body armor or bare skin. He’s been prepared by a crew of Wakandans, all of them professional but never without understanding. They think of his comfort instead of the bare practicalities his handlers at HYDRA were concerned with. Now the medical personnel talk to him about everything they do, and they’re compassionate, not afraid of him at all. Bucky remembers the groups of scientists that saw him as something other than a person, their eyes clinical and detached, always afraid, always making sure he was under control. 

It’s as good as it can be here. Peaceful.

The best thing is that besides the scientists, there’s also Steve. Always there, always near, talking with Bucky about anything and everything. Steve is a steadying presence, because returning memories and secondhand information only started to make sense after Bucky came back to his tiny place in Bucharest to find Steve there. Suddenly the memories had connected, had meant something again in a very tangible way. The more time he spends with Steve the more real everything becomes, and so many new and old possibilities open up for him. Of course, the choice he’s made will close some of those doors again.

That is the cost, the payment to be made for the safety of himself and other people. The possibilities that have started to open up for him may be forever lost, and if not lost at least harder to achieve. He’ll never be able to get back to where he is now, because even if he stays the same while he’s in stasis, even if time stops for him, it won’t do so for anyone else. They will move on. The world will move on, and he has no idea what he will wake up to.

Steve being with him is the best thing, and the worst thing. It would be easier to do this without Steve, without ever having reconnected. Of course, Bucky’s not actually sure whether he would even have made this choice if they hadn’t. It’s useless to speculate anyway, because this is their reality.

He’s made his choice, he stands by it, and Steve accepts it. There’s a budding idea in Bucky’s head that Steve would accept a lot of choices made by him. Not all, not by a long shot, but many. And maybe that right there is as good argument as any for going under.

Hence he smiles and says it’s better this way for everyone. He says it even if he’s not really sure who he means by it, because there’s a part of him that points out it’s certainly not the best thing for the two of them. It’s a very selfish part of him that thinks so, and he squashes it down and pretends he can’t see how miserable Steve is. Pretends he himself doesn’t feel a bitter aftertaste in all the peace and safety he’s promised.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate for a moment. When everything is ready, he steps into the chamber himself and lets them strap him down. He leans back, relaxes, and closes his eyes. Waits for the pain that he knows doesn’t last for long.

The cold envelopes him, almost instantaneous, and Bucky disappears…

 

…into the cloud of frost, and Steve has to fight to not turn away, to not flee from the room.

He hurts all over, and it’s not just the healing bruises, the bones knitting themselves back together under his skin. This is the kind of pain that takes a root in his soul, except it’s too large to be contained there, and so it transfers into his body, envelopes him all over.

Steve’s felt it before, on four occasions precisely. First, when he knew his mother was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. It had lasted for months after she was gone, until one day Bucky had cracked a joke and Steve had laughed for real. Second time was when he failed to reach Bucky at the side of a speeding train over an icy river. It had been a relief, just weeks later, to watch the ice fill his field of vision. He’d never admit it to anyone, but it’s the truth. Third was the moment he understood that somehow he’d skipped right into the future, that everyone he knew was lost to him, but not in the way he’d chosen. That time it never really got better, it had just faded into background. And fourth was the moment when Bucky was standing right in front of him but didn’t know him, seconds after he’d dared to believe that maybe there was a miracle for him after all.

The memories are all too clear for him when he stands there, rooted in place in front of Bucky’s cryostasis chamber that to him looks all too much like a coffin. A glass coffin, just like in Snow White, a voice from his childhood points out, except no true love’s kiss will make this better. Theirs is a different kind of story.

Everyone else has stepped away out of respect, Steve realizes. He himself can’t move, because if he does he’ll run and he doesn’t run, ever. Can’t. The lesson from past,  _ start running and you’ll never stop, _ echoes crystal clear in his mind. He can’t run even though standing still feels like it’s tearing him apart, even if it shouldn’t. It’s wrong to hurt this much, he thinks. Selfish. This is Bucky’s choice, and Steve has to respect it, he shouldn’t feel like the world has betrayed him once again. This shouldn’t be the same as all the previous losses he’s suffered.

He should have faith; in Bucky, in himself, in everyone he trusts in to find a way to remove the traps in Bucky’s head. He should have faith, but it feels like a short commodity right now.

Steve stays in the room, he doesn’t even know for how long, until the feeling of too much changes, until it makes him want to do things instead of just running away. Then he steps closer, presses his palm against the glass just for a moment, and strides out of the room without looking back.

He knows that if he looks back he might never leave.


	2. You Begin This Way

##### Forward – Mission Statement

“You’re going to rescue your friends from the Raft.”

It takes Steve a moment to get his thoughts on the new track, away from the immenseness of his gratitude that overwhelmed him when T’Challa affirmed Bucky would be safe in Wakanda, no matter who would come asking. Bucky deserves to be safe after making a choice for everyone else’s safety, and Steve alone would not be able to provide it. It is an unexpected alliance with this king who just days earlier only thought of killing Bucky. It’s been a period of choices and changes for all of them, and Steve can only hope they’ve made the right ones. These days it seems to him harder than ever to tell.

Bucky is safe, and T’Challa is correct in that now Steve wants to make sure his other friends are too. “Yes,” he says, even if he knows it’s going to be difficult, if not right out impossible to do alone. Not that it would deter him; it’s not the first apparently impossible thing he’s attempted. He’s actually got a fairly good success rate at those. But more importantly, he has a feeling that giving Bucky a sanctuary is not the extent of what T’Challa is willing to do. T’Challa told him of the Raft on their second day in Wakanda, and Steve thought of it as a courtesy then, but now he suspects there’s more to it. Hence he lets the tone of his voice ask the question he doesn’t quite dare to put in words.

“You’re going to need help, and I am willing to give it to you. Although not for the actual operation on the Raft, Wakandans cannot be seen taking part on something like that.”

“No,” Steve agrees. “It wouldn’t be wise, or conducive to any of our interests.”

“However, I can get you scans of the structure for planning, and a way to disable their security system,” T’Challa says. “You already have the quinjet, but we should make sure it’s untraceable even for Stark. For now we are just blocking the signals, but a more permanent solution would be preferable. We can do all that. As you know, our technology developed outside of the rest of the world’s, and while we’ve made sure that we can integrate with everyone else’s, they can’t do the same with ours. Among other things, it makes us virtually invisible.”

T’Challa is all business, as Steve has already noticed before. When he decides on a course of action, he will try to find the most efficient means to the end, and Steve appreciates it. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to know the reasons.

“Thank you for all this,” Steve says, “But I have to ask —”

“You want to know why would I help you go against the Accords when Wakanda has ratified them.” Steve nods, and T’Challa continues, “I agreed with the Accords, on the broad principle presented in them. Still do. I don’t believe it is a good thing for an independent group of people to hold so much power than has an effect on the whole world. And I suspect you are not really in disagreement with me on this.”

“No,” Steve says. “I disagree with the procedures detailed in the Accords, that we would be completely without decision making power, just weapons to be pointed at whatever they feel like, regardless of how we think about the matter. The idea that the Avengers should work within the established power structures is fine on principle, but now it comes with reduced rights, and that’s a slippery slope we can’t afford.”

“But in addition, even if you shared the decision making power, you would still find it hard to trust the established institutions,” T’Challa observes.

“Yes, but that’s me. I think, there could be a way to make it work. But maybe it is with someone other than me,” Steve says.

T’Challa smiles. “It is ironic that a man who bears the name of a country is distrustful of establishment.”

Steve hums in agreement. “True. But I guess, there was always a difference between what Captain America was projected to mean for the general public, and what I wanted to achieve and what I believed in.”

“That is why you let go of the shield,” T’Challa says, and Steve can tell he truly understands.

“It was a big part of it, yes.”

“It is much the same with me. I agree with the principle, but not the politics, or the methods. I do not believe people with unusual abilities should have less rights than anyone else, and that is the case now. So I will help you with this.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and at T’Challa’s amused expression continues, “I know I keep saying it, but it’s true. You’ve done more than you needed, and I guess it might not be a popular decision among your people and your government to let us stay here.”

“There are those who question it, yes. But we have to remember that the Accords were already written when we entered the proceedings, at the wake of the loss of our people in Nigeria. We grasped them as a way to make things right, but decisions made while grieving aren’t always the best thought out. I know we had the right idea. My father had the right idea. I just think we should have looked at things a bit more closely first.”

T’Challa pauses for a moment and Steve waits, again feeling the pang of guilt about what happened with Crossbones. Finally T’Challa adds, “It was great for the people wanting the Accords to go through, to get Wakanda pushing for them. A lot of other nations that had questions came over. Hence there is a responsibility that we have to bear, when they are used in a way that I don’t think is right.”

“You couldn’t have known all of what would happen. But I don’t need to tell you this. There’s only one thing we can do now,” Steve says.

“Move forward.” T’Challa nods at Steve and leaves him to look over the jungle.

***

When he gets the 3D model of the Raft, Steve has to take a minute to just take the whole thing in. Ostensibly it’s meant for the most dangerous criminals, yet it is where his team was taken. Straight there, no due process, no nothing. He thinks back to Everett Ross scoffing even at the idea of Bucky having a lawyer.

He thinks of sliding scales.

This is the middle ground, they said. Sign or else, heavily implied. The weight of it all hits him again, the not knowing how this can be made right.

The answer is something he’s known for a long time. _Start with the small things,_ his mother used to say. It was a difficult lesson to learn, and Steve would be deluding himself if he thought he even now knows it by heart, by instinct. He always hated not being capable, not being allowed to do what everyone else did or what needed to be done. He always wanted to do more than everyone else saw as his share, and often he reached his own limits all too soon. His mother taught him the virtue of doing what he could, however small or insignificant it might seem, because it is still better than nothing.

Later it was Bucky telling him the same things, back in Brooklyn when money was tight and most available jobs were ones Steve couldn’t do. Bucky reminded him about it during the war, when inevitably they couldn’t help everyone, as much as they tried. Steve had to learn it all over again, since by then it felt like he indeed was finally capable of taking action, doing what he wanted. Being reminded that it wasn’t necessarily the case was always hard, never more so than that day in the bombed out bar.

Now, Steve doesn’t know if he can right the situation when it comes to people with superhuman capabilities. He doesn’t know how to make everyone see that even if they can be feared, they are still also people. He doesn’t know how to mend the rift in the middle of his former team. He doesn’t know how help Bucky, and it stings, all of it stings. It would be easier to just stop. To not to even try. It would be easier to let the events take their course and to just float along them. It would be easy, but he can’t. He already did that, after he woke up in the future, and it didn’t help. It made everything worse.

This time he takes his mother’s advice, and starts with the small, achievable things, and hopes they will lead to bigger ones. He starts with something he believes is right, and that is hopefully the first step down the correct path.

***

The Raft is nigh impregnable with its cutting edge technology and difficult location, and it’s very well guarded. But there is a way to breach it, all that’s needed is just him, the quinjet and some help with bypassing the security from the Wakandans. That’s where Steve will start.

The second part of his plan is something he does himself when the refitting of the quinjet and the computer virus for the Raft’s security and operating system are being crafted. He tries to write a couple of drafts of the letter first, tries to put down his thoughts to refine them, except it always feels forced. In the end he takes a new sheet of paper, just writes what he wants to say, and doesn’t read it after it’s finished. If it doesn’t connect with Tony, then no amount of editing will.

Steve slips the letter into a parcel with a phone, a deceptively mundane looking one containing a piece of Wakandan tech that only allows it to connect to him. It quite blatantly tells Tony where he is, where _they_ are, and it does make him a bit uneasy, all the negative possibilities flitting around in his head, but he forces them down. It is time to trust his instincts. Time to show trust in general.

Finally he takes out the computer and logs onto the email only four people know is his, and types an address that’s a meaningless string of letters and numbers out of his memory. The attack on the Raft he’s got handled, but for moving forward, whatever it ends up being, he’s going to need more hands.

***

Steve hasn’t been to the room where the cryostasis machine is located since he left the day Bucky went under. It’s been just over hundred and eighteen hours, and a part of him feels like he’s neglecting his friend, even if he knows Bucky won’t know whether he’s been there or not. He’s made it to the door twice, but turned away both times without managing to open it.

There is a part of him that notices the irony of how close their actions are to HYDRA’s, keeping Bucky under until the opportune time. The only difference is that this time all of it has been done with Bucky’s explicit permission, even request. It is a vital difference, but it doesn’t stop it all from tasting sour to Steve.

Bucky chose to go under to prevent any accidental triggering, to make sure no one else would be in danger. All of it is a result of Bucky having been HYDRA’s prisoner, and the thought makes Steve again want to burn every last bit of the organization to the ground. It’s not a new sentiment, and now that the anger isn’t as sharp anymore, not the stabbing pain it was in London over seventy years earlier, it scares him. The knowledge of what he would be prepared to do gives him a pause. He knows he’s balancing on thin ice, and a step into wrong direction will sink him.

He doesn’t want to sink, doesn’t want to betray every trust placed upon him like that. Furthermore, he knows above all that he can’t afford to sink, because he’s needed.

Most of all Steve is struggling with how he seems to keep losing Bucky, again and again. He can’t help but wonder if this might be the last time, if Bucky will be lost for good. After all he knows there are no guarantees.

Before the war, there was a certainty in him, perhaps the thing he knew most clearly of all. He knew that Bucky would be there, whatever happened. He knew it like he knew the sounds of the city, the heat of the pavement in the summer. Most things in his life felt impermanent and capable of disappearing at any moment ever since his mother’s illness, but not Bucky. Steve remembers there were moments of doubt, dark days when he couldn’t figure out why Bucky would give him the time of day, but deep inside him he always knew the truth. Bucky was steady as a rock, and in retrospect Steve can’t help but think he relied too much on that knowledge, relied too much on his friend.

Then the war came, Bucky signed up and Steve would have done the same except they wouldn’t have him. He’s not sure anymore what stung worse, his general inability to serve his country or the fact that Bucky clearly thought he shouldn’t even want to. Soon Bucky was gone, and Steve was left having to confront the fact that Bucky might never come back, that even if Steve made it to the battlefield, it still wasn’t a guarantee for them to meet again.

In Italy when he found out Bucky’s unit had been decimated, he truly looked at that loss in the eye for the first time. Later he got Bucky back in Austria, only to slowly come to realize how much his friend had changed due to the war and his time as a prisoner. It was a whole another side of the war, one he hadn’t really considered before.

As Steve had himself changed at the same time, he wasn’t always sure why it sometimes felt like there appeared to be almost a stranger looking at him with Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t know if it was that Bucky had changed, or if it was because Steve himself had changed. Sometimes he feared the serum had overwritten everything so thoroughly that he no longer was able to fully recognize his friend. Somehow though, they made it work, managed to fit themselves together again. Somehow it still was the truth that they seemed to belong with each other. And maybe it was craziness or denial, but in a way, during the war and their time with the Commandos, Steve was more sure than ever in his certainty that Bucky would always be there. His vigilant guardian angel with a deadly aim.

After Bucky fell Steve had to accept he’d been wrong to be so sure, and the loss was made worse when he woke up in the future, having lost everything else as well. Years later there was the moment when the Winter Soldier’s mask came off and Steve got Bucky back, only to lose him again when it was clear Bucky didn’t recognize him. And yet again on the day of the helicarriers, he got Bucky back and lost him before he even realized it, since Bucky saved him and then left.

Now Steve is standing in his suite of rooms in Wakanda, staring out of the window without seeing anything. He found Bucky again in Bucharest, and despite the dire situation they were plunged into, interacting was still easy in many ways after they reconnected in Berlin. Yet they couldn’t keep it, there were only a few short days before he again lost Bucky because of what HYDRA did. It always seems to circle back to that.

Steve keeps thinking about the trigger words HYDRA instilled in Bucky’s head. Apparently it was done by the Russian branch of HYDRA that was more interested and experienced in controlling assets. Zola himself had viewed Bucky mostly as a science experiment. There are also indicators of an internal power struggle within HYDRA, since the American branch never knew the whole trigger sequence according to Bucky. They knew seven words out of ten, enough to have control, but not as stable as the Russians managed. Steve wonders, not for the first time, about the words, if they were chosen by random, but it seems too much of a coincidence. They just feel too loaded for that. Bucky refused to comment on it during the few days they spent together in Wakanda, and Steve didn’t want to pry.

He hates that he had to speak them aloud earlier. He hates that they are in this situation in general, but his feelings won’t change anything, and thus they have limited choices. The trigger sequence had to be recorded before Bucky went under so that the scientists can work on the cure. Bucky asked Steve to be the one to do it, since he trusted no one else. Not that Steve trusts anyone else either really, but it still was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. He had thought he’d learned about every way one could break their heart by now, and yet he found a new one when his friend disappeared and left behind a shell, something that would do anything Steve told him. It didn’t much help to have Bucky come to him the next day, back to himself and not shaken by it at all.

There are too many things crowded inside him, and Steve heads for the practice rooms he was pointed to earlier when he asked. He needs to clear his mind, because he is fully healed by now, his quinjet is almost ready to go, and he’ll soon head out to the Raft to break out his friends. He knows well he’ll only have one chance to try it, and he needs to be sharp and not let anything distract him. His friends deserve only the best of him, nothing less, because they gave their all for him when he needed it.

The practice rooms are empty when he enters, but Steve’s only started his warm up when T’Challa walks in. They end up sparring, and it’s just what Steve needs, something that requires him to think only of what he’s doing. After a couple of hours they are both drenched in sweat, but Steve feels much calmer, and he hazards a guess that he was not the only one who needed to release energy.

“Are you ready to head out tomorrow?” T’Challa asks.

“I am now, I feel like I can think clearly again. What about you? There seemed to be some frustrations going on.”

“It is still new, being king. I’ve been prepared for it for years and years, but it’s still hard. Sometimes I think I’m not suited for it.”

“And yet there is nothing else for it, so you will do the best you can,” Steve reflects, and isn’t quite sure who he’s talking about.

“Indeed, as do we all,” T’Challa acknowledges.

That night Steve falls asleep easily, and passes until morning without a dream.

***

At the Raft it all goes as planned. Steve goes in when there is a minimum crew on duty, and the Wakandan virus that gets fed into the system opens all the doors for him. It’s a simple matter of rendering the crew unconscious with the ICERs from the quinjet’s armory, intended for capturing and subduing without lasting injury. A few more industrious guards get physically knocked out, but no one will have any permanent hurts, except maybe to their ego.

Steve can’t help but smile when he sees his friends, even if there is a layer of anger below at seeing them held prisoner. The anger threatens to burst to the surface when he sees Wanda and how she’s been restrained with a neural inhibitor. Steve pushes the anger back down because it won’t help, gets them all out of the cells and onto the quinjet. On the way they stop to reclaim their gear, since it’s also stored on the Raft. Steve doesn’t think it’s very good strategy in general on behalf of the military, but it certainly helps them. How Clint managed to find out it was the case, Steve has no idea, but then, he’s noticed before that Clint has a knack of talking to people so that they reveal to him more than they intend or even notice.

Steve feels another bit of tension leaving him when they are in the air and the cloaking system is switched on, meaning they can’t be tracked. His two immediate concerns, keeping Bucky safe and getting his friends out are achieved, even if they are all still fugitives. Better than prisoners.

“Not to underestimate your skills,” Clint begins, “but I think you must have had help with this prison break.”

“There was a Wakandan virus to shut down the system that was very helpful,” Steve says, and before he can go on, Sam interrupts him.

“Wait wait wait, T’Challa helped you? Us? How did that happen?”

“Short version, he had a change of heart after he found out who was really behind the attack in Vienna. Long version will have to wait, it’s more complicated than I want to get into right now,” Steve says, hoping Sam understands he’ll get back to it but that he doesn’t want to talk about everything with all of them. “For now, he’s offered a sanctuary for all of us should we need it.”

“I should get back home,” Scott says. “I’ve got friends who’ll have resources to help me, I’ll be fine. Not to mention, I’m tiny, I can hide.”

“As long as you don’t push the other button,” Clint retorts. “I’ve been away from my family for long enough. Although they’re probably under surveillance now, considering Stark knows about them.”

“He seems to have come around though,” Sam says.

“Well, he was, but like I said, it’s complicated,” Steve replies. “It’s safe to say he’s not my biggest fan right now, but that probably doesn’t extend to the rest of you. Anyway,” he addresses Clint again, “your family was indeed under surveillance, but somehow they got spirited away right from under the noses of a troop of government agents, would you believe that.”

“I guess having a highly capable Russian spy as a friend pays,” Clint says, and it’s an offhand remark but Steve feels his chest constricting.

“Nat said you should contact her when you get out.” Steve hands Clint a tablet, and he retreats with it to one of the chairs. “What about you, Wanda, Sam?”

“I’ve got no one else left but all of you,” Wanda says. “Would they want to receive me in Wakanda though, considering what happened in Nigeria?”

“T’Challa said you’ll be welcome. I think he understands that mistakes are made, sometimes with dire consequences, and the only way is to move forward.” Steve says, not sure if she’s reassured, but she does need a safe place to stay. “And Sam?”

“I suspect you still need someone keeping you out of trouble, and I don’t feel like getting out of this yet. Just let me call my mom so she won’t worry.”

“All right, let’s do that.”

They drop Scott off at the outskirts of San Francisco and Clint near Vancouver before Steve sets the autopilot to take them back to Wakanda. When they get there it’s nighttime, and Steve has crossed so many timezones he’s not actually sure how long he’s been gone. They are greeted by people from T’Challa’s household that take over the maintenance of the jet. Soon they are back in the suite of rooms where Steve has been staying, and two of the previously unoccupied rooms have been made ready for Wanda and Sam. They all agree it’s best to sleep before getting any more into what happened since they separated in Leipzig.

***

After breakfast the next morning Sam and Wanda clearly want the whole story, and Steve leads them to the room that houses Bucky’s cryostasis chamber. The lights are on low, casting soft shadows all around them, and Steve leaves it that way, because it is hard enough to look at Bucky like this. Bright lights would just make it worse. He can sense the stunned silence on both sides of him, how Wanda and Sam struggle to find words. He’s dreaded coming back into the room, and it is as hard as he expected, but suddenly, standing there between Sam and Wanda, he feels unexpectedly grateful, even if it is tinted with bitterness as is everything these days.

After he woke up in the future, he’s made many acquaintances and even friends, but there aren’t that many that he’s felt like he truly connects to. From his old life there was Peggy, and her loss still feels raw in that peculiar way, because it was fully expected and yet something he never knew how to prepare for. Her passing cut Steve away from all the ties to his past, because even with Bucky in the world, Steve hadn’t any way to contact him, nothing concrete. Even now the thread between him and Bucky feels fragile at best, likely to disconnect at any moment.

Besides Peggy, he’s gotten along fine with the Avengers and many of his co-workers, but there aren’t that many people with whom he feels comfortable enough to let down his guard. Two of them are standing next to him. Sam has been a true friend from the start, ever since that morning at the Mall, and there is a kinship Steve has always felt for Wanda that makes her feel almost like a younger sister he’s never had. Besides them there are Nat and Sharon, both in the wind currently, but getting by judging by their email discussions.

Sam is the one to first regain his powers of speech. “I feel like I should either want to punch you or him, depending on what the hell exactly has happened here. Definitely one or the other.”

Steve feels laughter bubbling up inside him and swallows it back down, because he recognizes it’s mostly a defense mechanism. He pulls out chairs for all of them and starts telling the story of what happened in Siberia and afterward in Wakanda.

“In light of all that, how do you think the Avengers are going to take us breaking out of the Raft?” Sam asks when Steve is done.

“Well, they monitored the communications from here, don’t ask me how and whether I think Wakanda is spying on the whole world with their more advanced technology, but it appears there was a call from Ross and Tony blew them off. I’d guess we won’t have to worry about having Avengers at our tail, just the regular authorities. Also Wakanda doesn’t have extradition treaties with anyone. And like I said, Tony’s beef is with me and Bucky, not the rest of you, so I doubt he’ll come after you guys.”

“He didn’t seem that keen on us being on the Raft,” Sam agrees. “So, do you think he’ll come after your boy there?”

“Don’t know. I think, or hope anyway,” Steve corrects himself, “that when he’s thought about it he’ll realize he would have regretted if he’d actually managed to kill Bucky. But I don’t know where it leaves us. We’ll have to see.”

They’re all quiet for a while, and finally Wanda takes a step closer to Bucky’s chamber and looks inside the way Steve knows she does when she wants to see more than just what is on the surface.

“I wonder if I could help, with the triggers,” she muses. “I wouldn’t know where to start even, if it was just me, but maybe combined with the people here working on it.”

Steve can’t help but feel gratitude welling inside him once more. “I’ll introduce you to the team. It won’t hurt to talk to them at least, if that’s what you want to do.”

“I think it’s a start,” Wanda says.

***

Later that day Steve is sitting on a balcony, listening to the rain pattering on the awning above him, when Sam finds him. First Sam doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat in one of the comfortable chairs. Steve knows though, that he’s there to talk. It’s a skill Sam has, Steve has noted it many times before, that he not only is good at knowing what to say, but also _when_ to say it. Silences with Sam don’t feel forced or uncomfortable, a rare enough occurrence. It was similar with Bucky before the train, even if Bucky always tended a lot more toward idle chatter.

In the end it’s Steve that breaks the silence. “Did you decide yet who you want to punch?”

He aims for levity and probably misses by a mile.

“With you looking like a kicked dog? Him.”

“You know it’s not his fault though.”

“Ultimately, you’re right. We know who’s at fault here, yes. But you know it’s okay to be angry, right?” Sam asks and Steve gives him a sidelong look.

“I think I figured out it was okay to be angry at HYDRA over 70 years ago.”

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant it’s okay to be angry at Barnes.”

Steve feels at a total loss. “At Bucky? But why would I —”

“Look, what he’s done, it’s a justifiable choice, safe albeit extreme. It’ll definitely eliminate the possibility of any hidden triggers getting accidentally tripped. But you mentioned he said it was the best choice for everyone. Do you really believe that?”

“I —” Steve starts and doesn’t know how to continue. Saying no feels like he’s betraying Bucky, but he can’t say he does believe it, because it would be a lie.

“Thought so. Look, I said it’s a safe choice, and I meant in two ways. It’ll keep other people safe, but it’s easy for him, too, at least for now. Going under means he doesn’t have to consciously keep dealing with things, not until the part that other people need to help him with is solved. You don’t get that choice, and it’s okay to resent him for that. Doesn’t mean you don’t care about him.”

“I’m not angry at him,” Steve says, feeling subdued. There is a seed of truth in what Sam said.

“Yeah, whatever you say, man.”

“I’m not. At the moment anyway. Maybe I will be, some days,” Steve allows. “Right now I’m pretty squarely angry at HYDRA.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. I mean, there are a lot of things I can think of, but those are the anger speaking, and that would be a bad idea. Truth is, it’s hard to see what I’m supposed to do. I used to think I could trust my judgment, that it would lead me down to the right path, but things are so complicated. My instinct says I want to go punch some HYDRA but it’s not very sophisticated.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “Let’s imagine that the last few weeks didn’t happen. If the Avengers were still a thing. Would you still want to go after HYDRA?”

Steve blinks, his mind clearing. “Yeah, I would. My current personal motivations aside, they are a general threat. There is that.” He pauses, and asks, “So, what is it that you want to do? I know what you said back on quinjet, but more broadly.”

“Back when we met, I told you I got out and was happy, but still decided to get back in again. I made that choice, decided this was what I wanted to do. And it’s true, HYDRA need to be gone. So let’s make sure they are.”

Sam grins at Steve, full of determination, and it’s another piece that slots in place in Steve’s mental map of making in forward.

***

_How do you feel about continuing to take out the squid squad,_ Steve texts Nat, omitting HYDRA’s name. Wakandan technology is safe, but since he’s texting into a normal phone, he’s careful to avoid any keywords and names that together might cause a surveillance program to recognize a pattern.

The reply is almost instantaneous. _So basically you want to pick up from where we left off._

_Seems like someone has to do it, and I sort of doubt it’s on the top of the list of things secretary R wants the others doing._

The next three messages come in a rapid succession.

_probably not_

_im in_

_got a plan?_

Steve notes the lack of capitalization; he’s noticed it varies, sometimes Nat texts proper English, sometimes she veers closer to how Steve has seen people talk on the Internet. Sometimes he suspects the fact that she lets him see it means the world, because in the early days she’d texted at him in a much more neutral way.

_Not yet, other than we need to be less conspicuous than before. S and W are coming, and I asked SC as well._

_if were to be inconspicuous its good you wont be carrying that big target around:)_

Steve frowns at the screen; he hasn’t told her what exactly happened with Tony, but she has her own ways of finding things out, and he decides he can ask about it in person.

_NF is back underground, and he’s come to a pretty much same conclusion as you, that they need to be taken down._

Steve notes the correct syntax again, and isn’t at all surprised Fury has decided to back out of the Avengers again. They never really got along with Ross.

_And MH?_ he asks.

_Still at s. ind but probably will help us_

_Especially if we want to make contact between the two teams,_ Nat adds, and Steve  isn’t surprised she knows he ultimately wants to bring the whole team together again.

_Okay, have NF contact me on this number. If he can find who we’re looking for, we’ll take them out._

_you guys staying there?_

_For now._ Steve wonders if she knows about Bucky, since she probably doesn’t have sources in Wakanda. Unless Sam has told her, but Steve doesn’t think it likely.

_are we calling C and the tiny big dude to go along?_ she asks.

_I thought only if needed, the five of us can probably handle most of things. The shrinking may come handy at times._

_As long as he doesn’t push the wrong button_

_C actually made that joke already._

Steve grins at the frowning emoji he gets in return before putting the phone away. Things are in motion, and he actually feels better to be doing something, even if it probably means there’ll still be a lot of waiting around.

***

The night is already darkening when Steve sorts out the pile of papers he used for planning for the attack on the Raft. He finds an empty notebook, pens and pencils, and retreats with them into his room.

He remembers the notebooks in Bucky’s room in Bucharest, and it has given him an idea. Bucky clearly used them to try to regain his memories, and now that he is in stasis he’ll miss things again. Steve thinks that it might help when Bucky wakes up if he has access to Steve’s memories, and it’s with that thought he puts the pen on the first page of the empty book.

Steve starts by telling about the days that have passed since Bucky went under. Among the text he draws things, some for which he can’t find words but thinks Bucky might understand from the picture.

He concludes with the plan to continue the fight against HYDRA, puts the notebook and pens on the table, and goes to bed. He wakes up early in the morning, before Sam and Wanda. On the way for his run he stops at the room Bucky is in.

 

* * *

  

 

##### Backward – Choices

It felt like he’d lost his arm again, Bucky vaguely thought as he took another step forward, leaning on Steve. Of course, it was true too, he _had_ lost an arm again, even if this time it wasn’t made of flesh and blood and as a result of that he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out. Instead his head was full of neural static, the connections broken and misfiring, and his body was trying to compensate even though there was nothing that it could do but to load him full of endorphins in an effort to manage it. At least the blast had fried the electrics on the surface, so there was no possibility for accidental electrocution. He had other injuries, ones that were more serious, more in need to be treated, but the pain felt distant and almost insignificant.

There was another thing that was filling his head, almost as instinctive and unavoidable as the neural feedback from his arm, and that was Steve. Shaky and clearly in pain, somehow Steve still was as sure and determined as he had ever been. It had all gone wrong; they’d misjudged what Zemo had wanted, and now the Avengers were more thoroughly broken than the Accords had managed. Bucky didn’t yet understand everything that had happened, he knew there were consequences he couldn’t yet see, more monumental than he probably anticipated. Still, he doubted that anything could be as monumental as the moment when Steve let go of the shield, let it fall from his hands and walked away without looking back.

Bucky’s memories weren’t fully back, probably never would be, but he remembered how Steve had treated the shield in the war. It had always felt more of an extension to his body rather than a tool. More than that, it had been the symbol of everything Steve had wanted to achieve. Now Steve had left it behind, and didn’t seem to regret it at all. To Bucky it felt like there had been a moment of relief in Steve when he had let go, and he didn’t understand it. He’d think he’d interpreted Steve wrong at that moment, but everything in him rallied against it. He had the right idea, it was obvious in the way Steve walked, the way his arm was steady around Bucky.

Ever since he’d left Steve behind on the banks of the Potomac he’d tried to regain himself. Back then he hadn’t quite known Steve yet, hadn’t known why he’d suddenly been so horrified by what he’d done on the falling helicarrier. He’d only known that Steve was someone important. It had been the only truth he had, clearer than anything he’d known about his mission, his handlers and his existence as the Winter Soldier. He had dragged himself back from within himself, piece by piece, trying to figure out how they fit together. Every step of the way he’d also found Steve, tied into everything that made Bucky himself.

Sometimes, when it was difficult to remember and everything felt fragile and twisted, Steve had felt more real to Bucky than he himself had, the rock among all the confusion. And when Steve had come for him, while Bucky didn’t know what he was after, what he thought of Bucky after everything, after Bucky had nearly killed him, he had still felt familiar, had been Steve. A man with a mission.

Now, for the first time, Bucky had to consider that maybe he wasn’t the only one that had changed. That Steve hadn’t just stopped living when their paths had diverged. He’d lived through things, had met new people, and Bucky didn’t know how he’d been affected by them. He was still Steve, as much Bucky knew, but in many ways he was also a new man, one that Bucky didn’t quite know.

He was reflecting on these things as they slowly made their way toward the surface. As they went Bucky gathered his resolve again to move more under his own power instead of letting Steve support him so much. After all, Steve too was injured, all things considered maybe even more seriously than Bucky if one didn’t count the damage to his cybernetic arm that threw everything into confusion. By the time they were nearing the doors to outside they were supporting each other, mostly moving by the power of stubbornness and nothing else.

Steve was actually the first to realize they weren’t alone when they stepped outside, Bucky’s senses were still too overwhelmed. Steve had already moved them so that he was standing in front of Bucky, stance still and ready, before Bucky saw King T’Challa. It was a tense moment, the three of them regarding each other, and Bucky didn’t know if he had any strength left to fight, or whether Steve did, for that matter. He would try though, if it came to that. T’Challa wasn’t wearing his helmet, so there was that at least, but Steve and Bucky had left most of their weapons behind.

T’Challa was the one to break the silence. “Where’s Stark?”

“Down there,” Steve said, and answered the unvoiced question too. “Physically probably in better shape than either one of us, but he’s going to need a ride out, since his suit is out of the picture.”

T’Challa nodded. “I suspect that’s already on the way. If he doesn’t have some kind of automatic monitoring system on his suits, he’s more reckless than I think.”

“He’s fairly reckless, but I suspect he learned something from being terrorists’ prisoner,” Steve conceded and asked, “What about Zemo?”

“He’s contained. I will take him to Vienna and he will answer for the bombing to the international community. And the two of you, where will you go?”

Bucky noted that Steve was still tense and wary, even though it was clear T’Challa now knew who was responsible for the death of his father. It was reasonable, but it was different from the man he remembered, the one more prone to trust people than not, even if he knew their capability to be treacherous.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Guess we’ll take the quinjet and disappear. There’s not really any place that is safe for us.”

“There is one. I would be honored if you accepted a refuge in Wakanda. As you well know, we are isolated enough for it to be safe.”

Bucky was taken back by the offer, and he could sense Steve was too. It was reasonable for T’Challa to not try and kill him anymore, but this went above and beyond. They were the two most looked for fugitives in the world, and T’Challa was responsible for his country. It made no sense. And yet, Bucky could tell the offer was sincere. There were many things about human behavior that didn’t always register right yet, but this he knew, he could always tell when people lied. And T’Challa wasn’t lying.

Steve turned to Bucky, the tension and readiness to fight easing away from his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows in question. Bucky could tell Steve was thinking this was something they should accept, and he found himself agreeing, so he just nodded and let Steve do the talking.

They were off soon after, T’Challa having given them instructions to use the cloaking mode of the quinjet so that they couldn’t be followed, and a device that would act as a beacon that could only be picked up by the Wakandan air control and would ensure their safe path into the country.

Bucky was resting his head back in one of the chairs where Steve had helped him, waiting for the jet to reach cruising level. The feedback from his arm was becoming a headache instead of just the static, and it was getting harder to focus as adrenaline was running out now that they were as safe as they probably were going to be. He must have spaced out for a moment, since suddenly Steve was right there in front of him, his helmet forgotten somewhere and bruises blooming on his face.

“It’ll take us about six hours to get there. We should look at your injuries, make sure there’s nothing urgent.”

“You too,” Bucky said, but let Steve help him take off his harness and jacket, and thoroughly check him.

They did the same to Steve, and miraculously there was nothing on either of them that would become worse if left untreated for the trip. They both had broken bones, and there were lines on Steve’s skin, showing where electricity had coursed through him as a result of the blast from the repulsors. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest with that. They taped ice packs over worst bruising and settled into the chairs, as comfortable as they could get, wrapped in blankets. Steve took his seat at the pilot’s chair to keep an eye on the autopilot, the radar and other sensors.

Bucky sat behind him, not sleeping as Steve had suggested, but looking at Steve, trying to see what was same and what was different. Of course, it was impossible like this, he’d need more data.

They didn’t talk; it felt like there were so many things between them that it was hard to decide where to start, and Bucky didn’t even know what exactly Steve thought of him. Nor was he quite sure how he felt about Steve. There was their past, but there was everything else too, and it felt like it all was just one huge tangle.

In the end he drifted into a half-sleep, and was roused when Wakandan air control contacted them to guide them in for landing.

***

Wakanda was nothing like Bucky had seen before, even though he’d seen a lot of different countries and climates during his missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d never been sent here, and for all that he knew, HYDRA had never had that much focus on the country. In retrospect, that seemed like a tactical mistake, possibly fueled by the isolation of the country, and the HYDRA leaders not expecting an African nation to be so technologically advanced. Stereotypes die hard, Bucky knew this well, had taken advantage of it on his missions.

When they arrived it was night and he was tired, but the ingrained tendency to keep track of everything meant he made note of the route they took and how the buildings and technology were a curious mix of something that seemed ancient, and other things that were futuristic to his eyes. They were taken to a medical center at the palace where their injuries were treated and technicians took a look at Bucky’s arm, making sure the connections were not live and covering the exposed inside.

Bucky felt uneasy just sitting there and letting them tinker with his shoulder, even if he fully knew they were doing all of it to help him. It was just too reminiscent to how HYDRA had worked on him, despite the fact that the room was nothing like the underground bunkers HYDRA had mostly kept him in. He’d declined sitting in a reclining chair, choosing instead to sit on the examination table. After he’d been treated Steve had come to sit next to him on his right side and had talked in low voice about things that were nothing important, nothing to do with anything that had happened. It had taken Bucky all too long to realize Steve had noticed his discomfort and did his best to distract him. It worked too.

They were taken into a spacious apartment that had a living room filled with beautiful wooden furniture with colorful pillows and plush rugs on floors, several bedrooms, a kitchen and a dining space. There was a meal laid out on the table. Uzoma, the doctor that had treated them had recommended they eat and rest. After making sure they knew to call for anything they need, everyone left and they were alone.

“Come and have dinner, it’s been a while,” Steve said and smiled, clearly tired.

The meal was spent mostly in quiet, interrupted by the kind of talk that has to do with asking for and handing out things, not much else. Bucky remembered how he had used to spend hours and hours with Steve and not running out of things to say. Now he couldn’t remember what they had talked about. It was almost as if he’d imagined it, confused when his memories had come back, maybe put the pieces back wrong. Steve for his part seemed to be immersed deep in thought, or just tired, eating methodically, as if he was trying to get in as many calories as efficiently as possible.

They turned in soon after, rest being the best for healing. It was all very comfortable, starting from the clothes provided to the soft bed, but Bucky couldn’t sleep. Rationally he knew they were safe, and yet he couldn’t stop listening to every little sound, focusing on each shifting shadow. In the end he decided to stop trying to sleep at all and wandered back into the hallway. Steve’s door was pulled to but not completely closed, and Bucky pushed at it a bit until he could see Steve. He was lying on his back, probably to ease the pressure on his ribs, since Steve usually slept curled on his side, or on his stomach if it was hot, Bucky’s idle mind provided him with a memory. But his breathing was steady and even and it felt like healing to Bucky.

He sat down in the hallway, leaning to the wall next to Steve’s door and felt calmer than he had in his own room. He let his mind drift.

He wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep, but he was lifted to focus by a faint knock at their door. It was much lighter outside now, and he judged by the shadows and the knowledge of the latitude that it was about an hour after sunrise. Steve was still asleep, hadn’t really moved during the night, and Bucky was fairly sure he was going to keep sleeping for several hours more. He pulled Steve’s door all the way closed before going to see who was at the door.

T’Challa was alone in the hallway, standing utterly still and yet relaxed, in a way that Bucky knew it to be an acquired skill. But probably being trained to be a king included patient waiting without fidgeting. Much like a sniper. Bucky opened the door and let him in, actually pleased with the turn of the events, since he’d come to a decision during the night.

They went to the balcony to talk so as to not wake up Steve. T’Challa inquired after their condition, and Bucky explained that he was far better off than Steve now that the misfiring neural connections from his arm were quiet. There were a lot of bruising and some fractured bones that were still healing, but Steve had more serious internal injuries.

After thanking T’Challa for giving them a place to stay, Bucky decided to broach the subject he’d been contemplating on over night. “You must understand, I’m still not safe. Everything HYDRA put in my head is still there.”

T’Challa regarded him steadily for a while. “I had considered that, and perhaps we can find a way to help with that. We are very advanced in medical sciences, as well as everything else. It might take time, but I believe we can help your recovery. And while we do that, you are safe here.” T’Challa took out a red book that Bucky recognized immediately, and handed it to him. “Zemo had it, and I didn’t tell anyone about it. There are no copies, you decide what happens to it.”

Bucky found his hand was trembling while clutching the book and he had to put it down, then take a few more breaths. A part of him wanted to doubt that this was the only copy, but he could tell T’Challa was telling the truth. Another part of him wanted to burn the book, wanted to completely destroy it and be done with it, but rationality won.

“It might help with finding out how to take it all out of my head. But it won’t be enough, and I don’t have the kind of time we need. As you know, they put a way to have complete control over me in my head, to make sure I would just do whatever they asked. That was a complicated process, and it’s the ten words Zemo used. But they did other things, more simple, where just one word will get me to act in a certain way. There may be a list of them in the book, but even then there’s no way to safeguard, or know it’s all of them. We can never make sure someone isn’t going to say one of them by chance, and I can’t let that happen.”

Bucky saw T’Challa’s eyebrows draw together, he was clearly thinking, and he continued. “Last year I was in Prague, staying for a while, and I just heard a phrase. I don’t know what word exactly it was, but I had to leave. Not just the street, the whole country. I couldn’t stop until I was in Hungary. It was a compulsion, and I know they put it in there. And I know there are more, probably ones that make me violent. What if there is a word that’ll make me try and kill everyone in the general vicinity? We can’t let that happen. I took a risk before and I shouldn’t have, that brought us here. I’m not doing the same again.”

T’Challa nodded, still calm. “You sound like you have a solution.”

“HYDRA had the solution. There was a reason they kept me in stasis in between.”

“You want to go back to that?” It was the first time T’Challa was surprised.

“It’s not really about wanting. It’s what has to happen. There’s no other way to guarantee I’m not triggered. I will not let that happen.”

Bucky forced himself to breathe, slow and even for a few times. Cryostasis was pain and emptiness, but there were worse things in his head. A memory of Steve’s face on the helicarrier, broken and bruised. The bullet wounds through his torso. That was one of the things Bucky couldn’t risk happening again.

For a few more moments T’Challa just looked at him, almost into him, and Bucky let it happen, just took the scrutiny. Then T’Challa nodded. “That can be arranged, and I promise you, we will find a way to reverse it all. I will talk to my medical scientists. But you will have to tell Rogers, he won’t take it well from anyone else.”

Bucky felt a ghost of a smile on his face. “No, he wouldn’t.”

***

Steve’s reaction was about what Bucky had expected; ten conflicting emotions going through his head, all showing on his face. Bucky knew exactly what was happening. Steve wanted to protest and couldn’t, because he wasn’t going to say no to Bucky. Not now, not like this when he was deciding over his own fate. Bucky knew Steve thought it was a bad idea, but that he ran headlong into the argument that thinking so was selfish. He didn’t need to have all his memories to know this about Steve.

There was also resignation. For all that Steve had generally been the stubborn one of them, sometimes Bucky just wouldn’t budge, and Steve clearly knew this was one of those times. It all meant that Steve took a moment to pull himself together, and even plastered a smile on his face when he said, “If it’s what you want.” That was it. Bucky wasn’t going to mention that it was one of Steve’s sad smiles.

It was funny really, how easily he could read Steve. Some of it was the skills he’d been taught by HYDRA, but a lot more of it was just there. He knew without knowing why. Same as with many other things to do with Steve, how it was so deceptively easy interacting with him. On one hand it was great, because not that many things were easy these days. On the other hand it scared Bucky, because it was so instinctive that he felt like he was walking blind. It was why he kept watching Steve, trying to figure out why he knew what he knew. Why he felt what he felt.

Steve had slept for almost fifteen hours before he’d woken up, most likely driven by hunger. Bucky had waited until they’d eaten before telling Steve, knowing it would likely mix Steve up enough that he wouldn’t have taken care of himself, and  getting calories was crucial for his fast recovery rate. Bucky made himself eat too, and was surprised by how much he actually enjoyed the food. It was like a burden had been taken from his shoulders now that he knew what would happen, and it made it possible for him to enjoy life’s small pleasures.

Steve was still clearly in pain, his muscles stiff and the bones definitely not yet fully repaired. Not that he seemed to mind it, moving about. Bucky also knew that the pain Steve felt most acutely wasn’t physical at all. It was a pain of loss, the pain of having to let Bucky go so soon again.

Bucky was sure he was doing the right thing, he couldn’t risk other people’s safety anymore like he had for the past two years. There was also a nagging feeling that this was the right thing to do for Steve, for all that Steve would vehemently deny it. It came down to how Steve wouldn’t say no to Bucky right now. It felt dangerous, to know that was the truth, that somehow he had so much power over Steve. It felt like he didn’t deserve it, and he knew right down to his bones that Steve didn’t deserve it. Steve deserved to be free, not tied to someone he used to know but didn’t anymore. Time would help to sever that connection.

Bucky studiously ignored the fact there already had been years that they’d spent apart, even discounting the time spent in ice.

These were the kinds of things he’d never actually say to Steve, if only because Steve would protest, that it wasn’t what he wanted. And it was the truth, Steve didn’t want this, but Bucky didn’t think what Steve wanted existed anymore. Steve just didn’t see it yet. He needed time, and it would help him to be reminded that he had a life now that was different from the one he had before he crashed the Valkyrie. And it wasn’t like it was a bad life, Bucky was happy that Steve had all these new friends, even now that they were divided. Steve needed to be reminded of that life, and the only way it would happen was if Bucky was gone. And maybe, after some time had passed, they would find a way to take the HYDRA controlling out of his head. Maybe by then Steve would have settled back into his life and they could start again, be something else, something that suited them better now.

Bucky had two good reasons to go back to ice, both of which overrode all the reservations he had so thoroughly they meant nothing. Decision made, he felt calm and relaxed, maybe for the first time since 1943 when he stepped onto the ship bound for Europe.

They were still sitting at the table, both deep in thought, and Bucky noted that Steve kept shifting unconsciously, clearly trying to alleviate the pressure on his ribs.

“You should probably go back to sleep,” Bucky found himself saying. “You’re still in pain, and you’ll heal faster that way.”

Steve looked at Bucky then, eyes more assessing than he had yet. “I’m not sure you’re the one to talk. You look like you haven’t slept much at all, and I’m not the only one that needs to heal. Besides, I’ll be fine, and it’s not like I could fall asleep immediately again.”

“Fine, suit yourself. Can you at least go somewhere more comfortable, the way you move makes me wince in sympathy pains.”

Steve shook his head but got up, none of his usual ease of movement there. “If you think it’s sympathy pains you clearly got hit in the head worse than I thought. You better lie down too.”

They settled into the lounging area where the thick rugs piled on top of each other and large cushions made it easy to lie down. They found comfortable spots and after they had settled Steve started talking. It wasn’t anything immediately important and yet felt like the most precious things of all. They were just snippets of memories, some that Bucky remembered, others he didn’t, but they evoked images in his mind. It was almost as if he was back in Brooklyn, but it was a different Brooklyn from the one they used to live in, because there were only the good things that had happened. Not the cold winters, or poverty, or fear of Steve not making it through the newest bout of illness. There were just the beautiful summer days and easy friendship.

When Bucky had lived alone for the past two years these happy memories had been difficult to bear, the disconnect he’d felt had alienated him from them. Now, though, they came alive when Steve spoke of them, and Bucky remembered more details than Steve’s words painted. Maybe it was denial, to purposefully focus on the happy parts of life. Maybe it was just being a human. Whichever it was, Bucky found himself drifting along the stories, feeling almost content.

He woke up into twilight, disoriented for a while about where he was. The breeze blowing through the windows was cool and smelled of rain, but there was no sound of it. There was a light blanket spread over him, and he realized he must have slept for hours. It took him embarrassingly long to notice where his hand was resting, but on reflection maybe it was because it was the safest thing that had changed while he’d been dreaming.

Steve had clearly been up, since he’d switched position, and was now leaning into pillows closer to Bucky. At some point while he was sleeping, Bucky’s hand had come to rest on Steve’s knee. Opening his eyes, he could see the faint glow of the tablet Steve was reading something on.

Bucky rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes, trying to gauge what time it was. It was easy when the sun was up, but he wasn’t yet familiar enough with the quality of twilight in Wakanda to be sure.

When Bucky shifted Steve looked up from his reading and ran his fingers lightly through Bucky’s hair. It was an oddly gentle gesture, one that didn’t really fit into any of his memories. They’d never really expressed themselves like that; Steve had disliked people treating him like was fragile before the serum, and Bucky had taken care to never do so. Even when Steve had been sick he’d hated anyone be gentle, so when they’d lived together Bucky had tried to be as brisk and cheerful as he managed. All things considered, this kind of softness was new. He didn’t know what it meant, so he didn’t react in any way.

“What are you reading?” Bucky asked, because it seemed like a safe distraction.

“Proust,” Steve said, with a complicated expression.

“The one where the guy remembers his life for seven volumes? Didn’t you read that back before the war?”

“Yeah, a part of it. Thought I’d continue now. It’s old enough to be freely available on the Internet.”

“Well, good for that, I don’t remember much but I think I was of the opinion it wasn’t worth any money.”

Steve grinned at him and looked happier than Bucky had seen him during this decade bar the moment in the empty warehouse in Berlin when Bucky had shown he remembered his past at least somewhat.

“I think you gave up midway the first volume. You did read as much as you had time for, but this wasn’t your kind of a thing,” Steve tells Bucky.

“And is it yours, or is this some stubbornness that doesn’t let you quit something you’ve started?”

“It’s, well. I don’t think I’m reading it for the reasons the author intended.”

“How come?”

“Well, there’s the thing how all the women become more interesting once he’s past his infatuation with them. Also I don’t think he realizes he’s in love with his best friend, or he practices some rigorous denial on that.”

“Why do you say that?” Bucky felt fairly taken aback by the direction the discussion had taken.

“He never says anything, obviously, but the narrative itself just becomes alive when his friend is there. There is always a burst of energy and it feels like he’s fully awake, as opposed to pretty much rest of it that has a very dreamy quality.” Steve paused and put the tablet down. “We should eat something, and probably sleep some more. You too, don’t spend another night awake.”

“How’d you know?” Bucky asked, bewildered, since Steve had clearly slept all the way through last night.

“Guessed, and now you confirmed.”

***

When they were on the way to their bedrooms, Steve stopped Bucky with hand on his arm. “Is it that you don’t feel safe here? That you can’t sleep?”

“I guess it probably is, partly anyway. I don’t know. I’ll try tonight.”

“You slept fine just now when I was there, so come with me? Maybe it’ll help.”

It felt like another, new kind of a slippery slope, but there was something in Bucky’s head that recognized safety when it came to Steve, and it would probably work. Still Bucky hesitated, because this felt like it went against everything he’d resolved. He’d meant for them to grow a distance, and this felt like getting more tangled into each other.

Steve knew he was hesitating, but clearly didn’t see the reason, probably couldn’t. “Come on Buck, there’s space for five in the bed, we slept in much closer quarters during the war.”

Bucky didn’t argue after that, because he thought it would let him sleep, and besides, it didn’t change anything. He was going back to ice, so maybe it was okay to have this.

He insistently ignored the little voice in his head that said the reasoning sounded very selfish.

***

Bucky woke up confused and disoriented, the dream fading into nothingness. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone in the big bed. Steve was grouched at the other corner, as far away from him as he could be and not get on the floor. The first thought Bucky had was that Steve was afraid of him, that he’d done something to warrant it. Only when he looked at Steve, he saw his eyes were unafraid, albeit questioning and hesitant.

“Are you back? I think you must have dreamed and not remembered where you were. You were scared of anyone close to you.”

It was obvious Steve was careful with the word choice, not saying what he meant. That Bucky had been afraid of him. Bucky swallowed hard, and forced his breathing back to normal frequency. It had been a paralyzing thought that Steve was afraid of him, even if it was something he half expected would happen. That Steve would really look at him and see him for what he was, and would be afraid of him or disgusted by him. The thought that Steve believed Bucky was afraid of him, even temporarily, was much worse. The wrongness of it turned Bucky’s stomach.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, because he couldn’t come up with anything else.

“No need to be,” Steve said, crawling back up the bed.

Bucky automatically noted that Steve was moving much easier now. The healing must have progressed during the night, but there were still bruises on his face. They’d noticed during the war that the serum sometimes seemed to target the more serious injuries first, and smaller ones healed comparatively slower, if still much faster than on regular human beings. It felt unlikely, but it still happened.

Bucky checked the time and worked out that they’d slept for almost eleven hours without him waking up once. “This is the longest time I’ve slept naturally in ages, I think maybe since I left New York for the war,” he offered, and was gratified to see Steve’s expression clear a little.

“That’s actually not true, there was that one leave we had in London. We’d had a bit of hard going before it, even by our scale, and you swore to spend the three days just sleeping and eating.”

Bucky dug at his memories, but came up empty. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Steve somehow managed to not look disappointed. “Yeah, you did that for the first day, slept sixteen hours straight, and on the second night there was an air raid. I’ve never heard you swear as much as you did in the bunker that night.”

“Was it the time that we went to the bar after the all clear and it had been bombed out?” Bucky asked, grasping at a thread that presented itself.

Steve’s smile was complicated. “Yeah, it was. I ended up t the same bar after the train, too, regretting I couldn’t get drunk.”

They were both silent, the discussion having taken the turn for darker times, but Bucky supposed it was now their life. Most things were a minefield, either because it turned out Bucky didn’t fully remember, or because they were just generally terrible.

They got up and Bucky stepped back into his room to shower, and during the breakfast their discussion was much more normal already

***

In the afternoon a pair of Wakandans arrived to discuss the cryostasis process and the possibilities of finding a way to purge the HYDRA triggers from Bucky’s brain. Bucky, same as any outsider, wasn’t that well versed in Wakandan science and technology, but it was apparent that there were significant differences between it and the rest of the world’s, and it gave him a little bit of hope. Maybe someone looking at things from a different angle was required for this.

They’d already met Uzoma the night they arrived in Wakanda, when he’d been the one responsible for the immediate treatment of their injuries. He was probably the closest equivalent to a doctor the Wakandans had. Abeni, whom they met now, was more of a scientist, specialized in neuroscience, but clearly possessing a good all around knowledge of how human beings functioned. She seemed very curious about the serum in both Bucky and Steve, and yet it didn’t feel at all as if she was seeing them as science experiments, as Bucky was all too familiar with. It helped that she, and really the both of them, was clearly angry about what had been done to Bucky, and first and foremost wanted to help. The challenge of the problem was secondary.

Bucky did the most talking with them. Steve was there with the three of them, a supportive presence and offering his opinions if asked, but otherwise stayed mostly quiet. On one hand Bucky was grateful that Steve had slipped into supporting him in such an apparently effortless way. On the other hand Bucky knew the whole thing still bothered Steve, hurt him, and Bucky was unnerved by the lack of arguments. There had been a few protests when Bucky first presented the idea, but Steve had given up a lot more easily than Bucky’s instincts said he should have.

Bucky was left with a headache after the discussion, as often happened when he was stretching his mind to remember what had happened to him while he was HYDRA’s prisoner. The trigger sequence meant that his brain didn’t function normally while he was under the influence, and accessing those memories became erratic. Sometime they popped into his head without warning, sometimes getting to them was like a slog in waist high mud. On top of it all was the concern about Steve, which meant his mind felt like it was trying to fly into three places at once and was tearing itself at the process.

Steve seemed restless, and clearly would have wanted to burn energy somehow, except he really couldn’t with his remaining injuries. Bucky settled against pillows in the lounging area and closed his eyes, trying to get his thoughts calm down and focus. After a while Steve came there too, made a place for himself next to Bucky and continued reading his book. He was still tense, but at least he was resting, which had been part of the reason why Bucky hadn’t gone to his bed.

It had been surprisingly easy with Steve, from the moment Bucky had let it be. He’d left Steve on the bank of Potomac, feeling too confused by the sudden influx of past that didn’t make any sense then. The fragmentary memories had been an abrasive screaming inside his skull, all the worse when he looked at Steve, and he’d had to get away. In the next two years he’d painstakingly pieced things together, had remembered things and had started to understand what everything that happened had actually meant.

Still, he hadn’t been anywhere near ready the day he’d come back to find Captain America in his apartment, in full gear, with unknown intentions. At first he’d kept his walls up, not letting out how much he already remembered, and in retrospect he wasn’t sure who exactly he’d been protecting then. Later, coming to consciousness trapped and yet somehow feeling safe he’d let Steve see him, and from that moment it had been easy. Not like it had been before, but still in a way effortless, as if they still fit together somehow, despite the decades and experiences between them.

It was easy with Steve, so many things were, and a part of Bucky expected it to be because Steve was as he remembered, fitted into the mold inside his head. Except sometimes it was obvious it wasn’t quite true. Steve was Steve, and yet every once in a while the way he behaved or acted or spoke was completely unexpected to Bucky, and not because he didn’t remember. He did, he had expectations and Steve went against them every now and then, often enough for it to be a pattern. It confused him, although he knew that it was only natural that Steve would have changed during the time the were apart. Sometimes the knowledge that his friend too was a new man rested heavily on Bucky, but for now he pushed it away. It would be better to get to know this new Steve after he came back from cryostasis, when hopefully everything would be easier. Maybe then there would be less expectations.

A voice in his head tried to remind him that he should consider he might never wake up again, but he pushed it away. If he knew anything about Steve anymore, he knew that Steve wouldn’t leave him there forever.

***

Cryostasis wasn’t a problem for Wakandan scientists, and the preparations wouldn’t take long. The process to remove the triggers on the other hand wasn’t going to be simple at all, and one of the things needed was a baseline. The scientists needed to see what was happening in Bucky’s brain when the control sequence was initiated, and the only way to get it would be to go through with the process. Bucky was slightly unimpressed with himself that he hadn’t thought it would come to it, considering how obvious it was, but he hadn’t.

He didn’t like it, but also knew there was no choice. He also didn’t like what he was going to ask of Steve.

T’Challa had recovered the book with the instructions, which meant that they knew how to do it, and Bucky had given it to Abeni the previous day for the basis of the research. It had made his skin crawl, the idea that a person he’d just met was in possession of the method, but T’Challa trusted these people, and Bucky had come to a conclusion, one that he shared with Steve, that they could trust T’Challa. Not that they had much choice.

It was one thing to have an almost stranger to be in the possession of the method, and a whole another to have them actually perform it. Saying the words gave the control to the person saying them, and Bucky couldn’t imagine trusting someone he’d just met with all of himself. In fact, there was only one person in the world he believed he could trust with it. Hence Steve was the only choice, and yet Bucky hated having to ask for it, because it would mix Steve up with all that had been done to him, and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want Steve in contact with all of what was happening inside his head, and he didn’t want to put Steve in a position where it would be so tangible and so real. Bucky knew he didn’t have a whole picture of Steve as he was these days, but he was sure this would hit a raw spot inside Steve’s head.

He didn’t want it, and yet he was going to ask, because there was no other choice except to do nothing, and that was the one he hated the most of all. Also the one he knew Steve hated.

Bucky just wished that at some point they would start getting choices where every option wasn’t bad or horrifying.

***

They decided to go through the process in the evening, when Bucky would be likelier to fall asleep soon afterward. The notes and what Bucky remembered indicated that there wasn’t really a time limit to the compulsion, but a task specific limit. Once the task was completed, the compulsion would fade, and sleeping furthered the process. Thus they would go through the trigger sequence, and go back to their rooms where the task could be as simple as for Bucky to go to sleep, and in the morning it would be in all probability gone.

That was also the day that the cryostasis machine would be ready and tested, and everything would be prepared for Bucky to go under.

When the hour of going through the sequence came, they hooked Bucky in all kinds of monitoring and imaging equipment they possibly could. Steve was standing next to the bed, the red book with the star on its cover in his hands. He was clearly tense, his jaw was tight and the furrow between his brows stood prominent. Bucky wanted to smile, to say something about how it was all going to be fine, except he couldn’t really. He was concentrating on breathing evenly, reminding himself that the people scuttling around him were there to help him, and that there was no need to try and run. It wasn’t great that the only reference he had to being scrutinized like this was from HYDRA, but he managed to keep calm.

It was easier when everything was ready and everyone but Steve withdrew some distance away. It was easier to ignore the machines and just look at Steve. It helped Bucky to remember it was safe. He nodded when Steve asked if he was ready, and grabbed a hold of the edges of the bed just in case.

Steve had practiced saying the words earlier that day, and his ear was good enough that he’d had the pronunciation down very soon. Now at the first two words there was the familiar edge of terror and nausea that threatened to overwhelm Bucky, but he concentrated on reminding himself it was Steve. Gradually the distress lessened, and he found his mind almost floating. It was not the same as it usually was, getting dragged into somewhere he didn’t want to go. He felt safe, even as reality became distant and stopped mattering.

***

Bucky woke up in his own bed the next morning. For once he didn’t remember dreaming, he thought he was about as rested as he was going to be, and the injuries from Siberia were bothering him less and less, even if there were still visible scrapes and bruises on him. The sun was up high, and while he brushed his teeth and got dressed he tried to remember what had happened the night before. Nothing really came back right then, although he had enough experience to know that it would probably come after a while when his brain had righted itself. All that was left was the feeling of being safe. It was a minor blessing, since it meant there would not be residual fear of Steve. That had been one possibility, the one that had worried Bucky the most.

The feeling of safety was tempting too, because as soon as he woke, he saw the possibility. He could just let it happen, let himself be under compulsion of the words spoken by Steve. Thus, already under command, he’d be safe for everyone. It horrified him that he felt a bigger revulsion toward stasis than being mind controlled if it was Steve. The idea of it, the safety he saw in it spoke of the decades of conditioning, and he needed get rid of it. It was also why he needed to keep to the original plan. It wouldn’t be a way forward, to give up his decision making power. He also knew that even if Steve might actually go for it if Bucky asked, it would tear him apart having to do it, having to be the same as Bucky’s handlers. Bucky had no illusions over how Steve was taking his decision to go into stasis, it hurt too, but this would be worse, and Bucky determinedly pushed the idea away. It wasn’t what he wanted, but nothing really was.

He made his way into the living area, and found Steve sitting among the cushions, staring out of the widow. Steve didn’t hear him, and Bucky took advantage of it by really taking a look of Steve. The bruises were still visible on his face, albeit less prominent, and there were shadows under his eyes. Even if Bucky had slept well, it was clear that Steve hadn’t.

Steve didn’t even flinch when Bucky deliberately made a sound when coming closer, just turned to look at Bucky with searching eyes.

“I’m all here,” Bucky said and Steve’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

For a few minutes they just sat there in silence, and then Bucky asked, “Did they finish with the cryostasis machine?”

“They did, everything is ready,” Steve replied, and after a pause, “You want to do it today.”

It was definitely more of a statement than a question, and clearly Steve too still knew enough of him to deduce it, even if it sometimes felt to Bucky that everything about him had changed.

“No time like today, I suppose,” Bucky acknowledged, and they were quiet once more.

It felt like everything had been said, and yet nothing at all.

***

Later, when everything was almost ready, all the preparations done and Bucky dressed in the white clothes that he’d been given, he asked Steve, “What will you do now?”

“First I’ll go get Sam and Wanda and the others. After that, guess we’ll see.”

“I want to say, don’t do anything stupid, except it feels kind of futile,” Bucky said, and Steve looked away, clearly fighting for his composure.

“From this end, in does kind of feel like you’re still taking all the stupid with you,” Steve said and even managed a watery smile before becoming serious again. “Only these days it seems it’s harder to tell what is what. Or to see the consequences.”

Bucky’s heart ached for Steve, and he wanted to tell him to be careful without joking about it, but didn’t really have the words. He wanted to ask something of Steve, except the request was vague even in his own head, and and what he caught of it felt selfish and precisely the kind of thing he knew they should try to be rid of. Before he could say anything at all, Uzoma came to call him for a final checkup, and Steve stepped out of the room.

It wasn’t all that unusual feeling for him these days, the sense that there was something that should have been said and he hadn’t. And time was running out on him for now. All he could do was to hope that it would be better after he woke up.

***

(There would be a time, eventually, when he knew all the consequences of his choice. And even then he wouldn’t be able to tell whether it had been the right one.)

 

* * *

 

##### Forward – Back to Business

It is odd, not being in Bucky’s room alone.

Steve has started referring to the room where Bucky’s cryostasis chamber is located as Bucky’s room, even if it creates a kind of dissonance in his head. In the wing where they are staying with Sam and Wanda is a room where Bucky slept, for some of the nights anyway, and where his few things are still stored, but Steve finds it hard now to think of it as Bucky’s room, since Bucky isn’t there.

Of course, it doesn’t really feel like Bucky is present even when Steve’s standing right next to the cryostasis machine, looking inside. It’s as if Bucky is in another dimension, trapped between seconds. When he wakes up, no time will have passed for him. Steve will have lived who knows how many days by then, will have had to deal with getting through each and every one of them. Sam was right when he said Steve might start to feel like Bucky has chosen the easy way, because a part of him does think so, he has to admit to himself. The rest of him shushes the idea, but right now it’s one of those days when the rebellious part of him is stronger than he’d like.

Usually when he comes to see Bucky, he’s alone, and he leaves the lights as they are set by default, low and soft. Now the bright overhead lights are on, and with him in the room are Wanda, Abeni and Uzoma that are responsible for Bucky’s care and a few technicians besides them. There are several screens displaying data while Abeni explains the process.

“Here in Wakanda technology was developed fairly separately from the rest of the world’s, and while we have taken care to integrate, we haven’t changed our principles. One of the main differences is that several fields of study that in especially the Western world are considered occult, we consider as their own fields of science among everything else. This means that we are used to combining what we might call magic with other sciences such as medicine.”

“So that means you might be able to combine your medical knowledge with Wanda’s powers,” Steve understands.

“Exactly.” Abeni pulls a stylus from where she’d stuck it in her braid and shows a scan of Bucky’s brain on one of the screens. “There’s visible scarring in James’s brain, probably caused by the electric current. There are also signs that the scarring has been healing, which is logical considering the accelerated healing factor he possesses. Now this,” she pulls another image, “shows the brain activity while he’s in a normal state of consciousness, and here it is after the trigger words were used. There are patterns we need to analyze, and form the course of action, but having talked to Wanda, I’m very confident we will come up with a solution.”

She smiles, and Steve feels grateful once again, that these capable people want to help Bucky. The news are about as good as he could have hoped for, and while there isn’t a timetable that they can give him, Steve still feels again more hopeful. Bucky is safe and taken good care of, and it means Steve can concentrate on taking out HYDRA.

***

The call comes through Nat, an email with coordinates to a place that’s in a sparsely populated part of Hungary, and the words, _meet you at the base, got work._ Nothing specific.

They take the quinjet, which conveniently was the Avengers’ quinjet, and apparently nothing was moved even after the Accords were signed. There probably hadn’t been time. It means all of their back-up equipment is there, including suits, and since they recovered Sam’s wings at the Raft, they are all set to go. Steve opts for the suit that’s all black, meant for occasions where he needed to be stealthy. He hasn’t actually used it before now, though.

“I’m not really Captain America anymore,” Steve says in reply to Sam and Wanda’s sidelong looks.

“Maybe not in the name,” Wanda just says, decked in her customary red.

There is a sense that Wanda has all the more forcefully decided to embrace herself, her abilities and her nature, and Steve is happy about that. She made the choice to leave the compound with Clint, but Steve knows she was deeply affected by her time on the Raft. Once doubt hits, it’s very difficult to let go, and what she needs is to move forward. She seems determined to do that, and a little bit of worry seeps away from Steve.

The base Fury has settled in is situated in the ruins of a castle, and the walls shield the quinjet well enough when it’s parked. Nat, in her field suit as well, is waiting for them, leaning to a wall. As soon as they’re out she opens her mouth, and Steve knows the question is going to be about Bucky. Sam is walking a step behind Steve to his right, but Steve can still see him gesturing frantically, telling her not to ask. Steve doesn’t quite know whether to be annoyed or grateful, because right then he doesn’t really want to discuss anything to do with Bucky with her, or anyone really. On the other hand he bristles at the implication that Sam thinks he needs to be treated gently.

“I have a really good peripheral vision,” he says and leaves it at that.

They head inside, and Steve notes the base is surprisingly well equipped, considering it’s inside a ruin. He suspects Fury’s team is not the first one to use it. There aren’t too many people; perhaps two dozen all together. Most of them are familiar faces from SHIELD, mainly technical staff. The field staff probably is out on whatever missions they run from here.

Fury is waiting in a space that could be called a conference room. Sharon is in there with him, and looking at her solidifies something Steve has been thinking about lately. They need to talk, but the mission comes first.

They all troop in and there’s a moment of silence when they all look at Steve, even Fury. Steve has thought about how this would work now that everything has changed. He led them before, and it took them to a tricky place and hurt many of them and their friends. He’s wondered if they would still trust him to lead, or if it would be a discussion. Apparently there isn’t need for one, and even though Steve has had doubts about himself, he knows he needs to do the same as he believes Wanda needs to do; to power through, to keep going and to learn from past.

“So, what do we have?” he asks, and ignores Nat’s tiny smile directed at him.

***

The HYDRA base seems to have been some kind of a fortress a few hundred years back, but the scans they have indicate there is quite a large subterranean network of chambers under it that’s definitely newer. The information they have seems to be solid, and Steve and his team soon have a plan of attack. They will enter from three sides at the same time and take everyone inside by surprise, in theory at least.

There doesn't seem to be that many HYDRA agents, fifteen at the most and not all of them combatants. It means the five of them are really an overkill, but Steve would rather have it too easy than take unnecessary risks. He ignores the voice in his head that points out that he’s known to take plenty of unnecessary risks. He can’t quite decide whether the voice sounds more like Bucky or Peggy, because both of them have said so to him enough times, even though it was fairly hypocritical coming from either one.

Steve and Nat are standing at the bottom of the cliff, waiting for the remaining daylight to fade away. The base is at the top, and they are going to climb up. Sam and Sharon make another team and Wanda the third, each of them going in at a perceived weak spot and surprise the troops inside. That’s the plan anyway. Steve reminds everyone to stay in contact, in case there are unexpected complications, before they don the night vision goggles and start the climb.

It’s tricky, especially in the darkness. Even with their advanced goggles the details of the cliff face blend into each other, and they are relying more on touch than vision. They manage though; Natasha’s training and Steve’s strength propel them along. Not many people could do it, especially not without ropes and weighed down by their assault gear. Climbing is the way to reach this side least likely to be detected, since HYDRA has proximity sensors that can spot even Sam in flight, which means he can only approach once, and hence carry only one of them in. The cliff is unguarded and unequipped with sensors, HYDRA being apparently confident no one can approach that way stealthily enough. A mistake on their part.

Halfway up Steve and Nat find a ledge that’s slightly wider than anything they’ve encountered yet, and they pause to rest, check their supplies and call for a status report. Everything is calm, there’s no indication that HYDRA has any idea they are coming. While he’s talking to the others, Steve senses Nat’s eyes on him, regarding him in a way that he knows means something specific.

“What?” he asks, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Steve’s noticed frankness is often the best way to deal with Nat. She’s used to people being secretive, and has had to be secretive herself for most of her life. It’s probably refreshing to have someone just go straight to the point. It’s one of the reasons why they get along so well together, he thinks. Sometimes their differences grate, but more often it’s relaxing that she appreciates his frankness and he doesn’t have to censor himself since she can take it, while she can trust he means what he says. Another reason why they get along so well is probably how they both can look at a nigh impossible cliff and just shrug and climb it.

“I was just thinking that your current getup is much more practical for this kind of a thing, so there’s that on the plus side, even if you might miss your more colorful gear.”

Steve considers for a moment. “I don’t know if missing is a word for it. It was my role for a while, and I gave it up. I don’t regret doing it.”

“I think other people do miss it,” she says, and Steve isn’t quite sure what she’s aiming at. He has an idea, but no certainty.

“Well, if people miss Captain America, the US Government can appoint a new one. After all, the shield is their property.” He doesn’t stop the jab, because the moment still rankles, despite them having set aside the differences.

She looks away then, maybe the first time he’s ever seen her do so. They’ve taken their goggles off and in the dark it’s hard to see her expression.

“Back then, I think we forgot, I forgot, to look at things from your angle,” Nat says. “We asked you to yield because we were friends, a team, a family, and to do that you would have had to give up another family. It was unfair to expect that, and I see that now. I don’t know, maybe I was too tied to the Avengers, because it was the only solid surface I had. I forgot it wasn’t necessarily like that for us all. So I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m too, for what happened. We all made mistakes, you were right in that we should have tried to direct it, but I still don’t think it could have been done after signing. When the names are on the paper any contract is a lot harder to change. Not to mention, the Accords explicitly made it clear anyone registered had basically waived some of their basic human rights, and it’s a line I don’t believe should be crossed, because it’ll make the next time easier.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “In retrospect, I suspect they were relying on getting us to sign by dropping hints of possible amendments and all that, just to get it through, and then that would have been that.”

“Right, with the tight time frame and all. Maybe we could have come to some kind of an agreement as a team, and it could have been better. I don’t know. I should have tried harder.” Steve shakes his head, because thinking of it now, there seem to have been so many opportunities to make everything better that he didn’t take.

“Oh, come on Steve, don’t get all martyr now. I know it’s your thing but really, you had enough on your plate with the passing of Director Carter. No one would expect you to concentrate on anything else. It was bad luck it happened then, but it doesn’t change the fact we only had such a short time. They absolutely meant for it to happen like that, hoping we’d yield. We all failed, we should have looked at things more closely.”

Steve swallows, the sorrow for Peggy still an ache. “I still think that this here is absolutely not what they wanted. But you’re right. It was tricky, and we all had baggage coming into it, and it played into other people’s hands. All we can do now is to try and move on, do the best we can from here.”

“Let’s do that then, starting now,” she agrees. “At least now nobody’s pitting loyalties against each other.”

“Well, I don’t really blame you for thinking I was irrational when it came to Bucky. I think I have history there,” Steve says.

“Wow, that’s some self-clarity,” Nat says, her voice dry, but Steve knows she can tell this is an olive branch, to get them back to where they were.

“Peggy kept telling me off when I was too reckless or anything else. Said I was too dramatic. I’ll have to try to do it for myself now.”

“Maybe you’ll have help with that,” Nat says, her teeth flashing white with a smile. “From what you’ve told me, she wasn’t the first one to try and keep you in check.”

Steve smiles back at her, relieved even when thinking of Bucky still hurts, because now it truly feels they’re back to the solid place they were at after Insight. They don the goggles again and continue the climb.

***

Steve was right when he thought the five of them would be somewhat of an overkill. The HYDRA agents are completely surprised by the attack, and in less than half an hour the situation is completely under control. Another half an hour and they have the whole place swept through. There is a self-destruction mechanism at the base, but no one has tripped it; apparently they cared more about their lives than killing enemies. Steve and his team gather everyone they’ve captured into one room, make sure they are all securely bound, and copy down all the data they can get their hands on.

It is the first time in a long while that Steve has gone on a mission entirely without his shield. Of course even when he had it, he’d still done a lot that didn’t rely on it, but to not have it at all is odd, and he does feel naked without it. At the same time, he feels sort of free too. His opponents don’t expect anything specific from him, since they probably don’t even recognize him before it’s all over. The only weapons he has are a knife that he carries more as a tool than a weapon, and a pair of short battle sticks. He’s used them before in training, and they already came with a holster, so it wasn’t a hard choice to go with them. The Wakandans who usually work on the quinjet have suggested some alternate weapons for him, things that rely on Wakandan technology, but so far Steve has declined. He likes to keep things simple.

“Put an alert to the Avengers from the control system,” Steve tells Nat when they’re otherwise finished. “Let them take care of these guys, it’s not like we have prisons. It’ll be good for Ross to have something else to think about, even though I doubt he’ll drop these guys on the Raft.”

“I don’t think this will make him any less keen on capturing you. All of us,” Natasha remarks.

“I know,” Steve says.

“So we’re making a statement. I like that,” she grins and rapidly types in commands.

***

Back at Fury’s base they debrief and go through the information they have gained. There are leads to several HYDRA operations, and Fury’s people are out getting closer, but right now everything seems quiet. Steve is slightly surprised by this. Considering the turmoil created by the Accords and the Avengers divided, this would be an opportune time for HYDRA to act. Nick agrees with him, and his team is on the lookout for anything unusual. Right now, though, there isn’t much they can do. They spend a few hours laying out procedures and planning for emergencies before they call it a night, even if it’s technically mid-morning already.

Steve is not tired; the serum helps him stay alert for longer time than non-enhanced people can, although he’s learned that at some point there will be a crash. Right now he’s still a good ways from one. He means to take them back to Wakanda and rest afterward, but there’s something he needs to do first.

The base is mostly quiet, Fury’s team being at their workstations or in the field. Wanda is asleep on an old couch that looks hilariously out of place in the stone corridor. Steve adjust her blanket that’s almost falling off as he passes, it’s not that warm underground even if it’s summer. He passes Sam and Nat, deep in conversation over sandwiches, and he suspects that while they may be talking shop, it’s not the point of it. He feels a smile tug at his lips as he walks forward.

He finds Sharon outside, and sits on the ruin next to her, passing out one of the protein shakes he grabbed on the way. He doesn’t much care about the taste, but they are practical for replenishing calories after a mission. For a few minutes they are quiet, just enjoying the sun. It’s much more gentle here than the relentless beating heat in Wakanda, and Steve finds this kind of sun suits him much better. For the time being there is no question of him living anywhere else though.

Sharon is the one to break the silence. “Am I or are you going to address the elephant in the room?”

“It’s not going to work with us, is it?”

It comes out in the shape of a question, even if Steve isn’t really asking anything. He knows, as he knows that she does. There’s just too much between them for them to be able to be together.

“No. It’s the wrong, I don’t know. Situation? Time? Wrong life maybe. Something like that.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. It’s surprisingly easy, in the end. “I’m sorry, though.”

“Me too,” she says, and then clarifies, “In a regret kind of a way, not that I think there’s anyone at fault. It is what it is.”

“Yeah. Could have been something else, in different circumstance, but I guess it’s useless think about what-ifs.”

“You only think?” Sharon asks, quirking her eyebrow.

“No, I know. Learned that a while ago.”

“Yeah. We’ve got to work with what we have, make out of it the best we can.”

“Right,” Steve agrees. “Are you settling well into your life in shadows?”

They talk about their lives for a while. They have emailed back and forth, but talking is much easier, you get a lot more from face to face besides words. Sharon is on the run same as all of them, but she’s doing well, having learned from Peggy to always be ready in case she needed to disappear. It was how the world her aunt lived in works, and it’s the world where Sharon grew up into. Steve knows she is going to be fine.

On the way back Steve sets up the autopilot to guide them toward Wakanda, and just leans back in his chair and keeps an eye on the instruments. Sam and Wanda are dozing in the back and Steve thinks back to the conversation he just had with Sharon.

There are so many variables that have to go right, in a relationship. There has to be the right person, and the time and situation have to be right too. So far it never has gone completely right for him, and sometimes it feels that there are too many variables, so many things that can go wrong. But it’s not a thought he likes, it feels too passive.

Truth is, there’s will involved too. If he wanted it, if both Sharon and him truly wanted it, they could push through all the obstacles there are between them. Maybe then the difficulty of their situation, the secrecy, the history, all of that wouldn’t matter. But they do, and who he is now can’t set those things aside. He can’t be anything other than he is, with the life that he’s lived, and ultimately the versions they are now aren’t compatible with each other.

Steve has heard about the theory of parallel universes, where every choice creates a new reality. Maybe in some of those realities they are together, but not here. This version of him makes different choices.

This version of him still feels a pull like gravity around his heart, something that’s been there since childhood, one that got so strong it was almost unbearable the summer he turned sixteen. It’s been there all along, except for the two years of his life, between the train and Insight, when it was replaced by a bitter emptiness. The pull toward Bucky has been there since they met, and for most of his life Steve hasn’t really looked at it, hasn’t truly acknowledged it. He never thought it was something that could lead to what he wanted.

Hence, he’s always taken what he could. Their friendship before the war, even in adulthood when he always felt the cold thread of panic when Bucky met another girl. And during the war, he still doesn’t know what it meant, what they were to each other exactly when they met hidden from other people’s eyes, but back then he knew it was temporary, knew it would only last in the unreality of the Western front, among the knowledge that they might die any day. After Insight he still refused to think there might be something, refused to hope for more than finding Bucky and helping him any way he could. Steve has never thought he could have what the potential around them has always been, what they would be in a perfect world, and hence he’s always tried to make a life that fits into an imperfect one.

Now Steve realizes he can’t keep doing it, not anymore. He might even be happy, if he were to set his heart to it, but he can’t. Maybe somewhere along the way he has encountered the proverbial last straw.

It’s not a perfect world they live in, and sometimes Steve finds it hard to hope for anything, but maybe it can be just good enough. Maybe it’s enough for him to finally look into the potential he’s been refusing to acknowledge for his whole life. Maybe he can finally find out what it really means for him.

***

It is early morning the day after they returned from the mission when Steve slips into Bucky’s room. He notes the changed position of screens, clearly indicating someone has been in, and looks through the logs that are kept automatically. His own name is already at the bottom of the list, along with the time of entry. There was a scheduled maintenance the previous night, and everything is in order. Currently the biggest risk to Bucky, and a very minuscule at that, everyone had assured Steve, is the failure of the cryostasis machine and an uncontrolled thaw resulting from it. It could mean the kind of tissue damage not even Bucky’s accelerated healing would be able to compensate for. So far everything has been working as specified.

Steve clicks on one of the spotlights, and settles into a lotus position on the floor, his journal for Bucky resting on his knee. He’s been writing about Wakanda, their daily life, the city, and the strange fauna and flora they encounter even in the gardens. He’s written about their intention to deal with HYDRA too. Besides all this, the past is a siren song he can’t resist. He’s written about his memories, things from his life after he came out of the ice, but also from before, from his life with Bucky. He’s not quite sure why he needs to put the words down, since Bucky was there, but it’s important, he feels. It’s not that he thinks Bucky needs help remembering, even if Steve will do whatever he can if Bucky ever asks. It’s more that the memories come to the top of his head all the more readily when he writes, so he puts them down on the paper. Maybe he’ll find out the reason for it all later. Hence he sits in the room and writes down everything that comes to mind. So far it has been things from the war years, and he wonders if his memory is taking him backward.

He never talks to Bucky. Even the idea of doing so feels strange. He doesn’t think it’s that he’d never get any replies, because that was never a problem before. After the Battle of New York, when he started to feel more centered and began to grasp that this was his time now, he talked to Bucky occasionally, and sometimes to his mother too. He talked to them at the graveyard, at the memorials to those who lost their lives at the war, or sometimes at home, just saying the words into the air. It didn’t feel odd then; perhaps some part of him had believed the words would find their way to the spirits, because they’d left their bodies behind. This time it’s different. He can look at Bucky, and he knows Bucky is there, but it’s all just paused. Nothing moves. Bucky is frozen, between one second and next, and there is no way for Steve’s words to find him now. So he doesn’t talk.

He tries to ignore the sudden pain in his chest, which probably isn’t physical anyway. Steve also recognizes that there is just the hint of the resentment that Sam has talked about. He’s here in pain, missing and confused, and Bucky can just pass through the days without them leaving a mark on him. And the resentment is unfair, because Bucky if anyone deserves to not be in pain. Not to mention, Steve has known Bucky for so long, he knows exactly how smart Bucky is, and with it comes the knowledge that Bucky is well aware of the cost. Because while he might pass the pain for now, he will be missing things, maybe crucial things, that he’ll never get back. It’s why Steve is writing his journal, one reason for it anyway. To do the little bit he can to give Bucky back at least something he’s missed.

He’s also writing them for himself, he knows as much. Exactly what he stands to gain is still somewhat unclear. All he knows is it’s something he can do for Bucky, when there’s so much he can’t. It’s the hardest thing for him, the helpless feeling of not being able to help. The job to remove the triggers rests on others, and while Steve trusts them, he can’t deny it rankles, having to be on the sidelines when it comes to such a crucial thing. There’s a little voice in his head, one he sometimes finds hard to ignore insisting he should be able to do more. Sometimes it quiets down when he writes, accepts this small thing, sometimes it doesn’t.

It has only been a few weeks, and Steve misses Bucky now more than he did when he thought Bucky was dead, even if he never before would have believed it possible. He’s not expecting the feeling to disappear anytime soon. Missing Bucky after he fell from the train hadn’t dissipated. It had become a kind of numbness, always there, maybe something Steve could ignore for some hours at a time, but never fully gone. Never really hurting less.

He’s missed Bucky over the years for a lot of different reasons. When he was a kid and bedridden for some illness, he missed Bucky when he couldn’t come over for the fear of it becoming worse. Later, around his sixteenth year, there was a time when he just generally missed Bucky every second they weren’t around each other. It was intense, and faded as time passed, but even years later when they lived together he felt the same missing when Bucky was gone during the nights. Then the war came, and missing Bucky was mixed with a fear, at first in anticipation of his orders to come, and later knowing they might never see each other again. After the train and the Valkyrie Steve still missed Bucky and it had been the worst of all until now, since there was no hope left, until there had been.

Now it’s very different kind of missing, somehow more bitter than all the rest. It’s as if fate dangled the possibility of having Bucky with him, and again snatched it away. Steve is just tired of it all.

He notices he hasn’t been writing in a while now, closes the notebook and gets back to his feet. He heads outside and settles in the shadow of a large tree that bears some kind of fruit if the amount of birds in the canopy is any kind of an implication. There are people walking on the paths, but no one approaches him. He gets out his phone, and after a few minutes of hesitation hits one of the speed dials.

Nat picks up on the second ring and doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Wow, I’m surprised, when I said you should call in general, not only due to missions or emergencies, I didn’t think you’d do it so soon. Or is there an emergency?”

“No. Guess I just wanted to talk.”

“About anything in particular?”

“I don’t know, maybe? It feels like there’s something just under the surface, but I don’t know what it is. It probably makes no sense,” Steve admits a bit ruefully.

“No, I get it. Tell you what, just talk about something, or I’ll talk about something, and maybe it emerges. I’m not busy. How’s life there?”

“Strange. Different. Getting used to parts of it anyway. Wanda definitely likes it here.”

“I know, we talked about it with her on the way to the HYDRA fortress.”

“It’s funny, when I think about it now, ever since I woke up back in 2012, I’ve been trying to fit in a role. There was the responsibility of being Captain America, even after Insight and when we were running Avengers by ourselves. It was still doing what I felt I had to do, at least partly. And now I’ve given it up.”

“Why did you anyway?” she asks.

“You can’t guess?”

“Sure, but I want to hear what you think, to see if you’re blinding yourself.”

Steve appreciates her honesty. She can manipulate people, he knows it very well, and he likes it when she’s upfront like this. “I guess I realized I didn’t really fit into it anymore. There has always been the difference between what Captain America meant to me and what it meant to the public, but in the war it didn’t matter so much. Now there are so many expectations, and I don’t think I can work with it anymore. It’s hard to move with decades worth of history at your back, even if most of that history is fabrication by any given interested party.”

“I know,” Nat says, and Steve realizes she probably does.

“I guess it’s the same for you, living with the legacy of the Black Widow.”

“And all the different covers,” she agrees. “But continue.”

“It’s just, I left it behind, and on one hand I feel free, and on the other there’s just the uncertainty, coming from all that we went through. It’s just so difficult to see what I should be doing, and whether what we do now will be the right thing if we look back to it a year from now. Before it felt like there never was time to pause and think about that.”

“You’re building yourself up again, same as me.”

“How is it going for you now?” Steve asks.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it now. I see now that I’d been relying on SHIELD, and after that I kind of substituted it with the Avengers. That’s why it was so hard to let go when the Accord came to play. I was trying to fit myself in a place that wasn’t as solid as I would have liked.”

“The new covers you were looking for didn’t work that well.”

“Didn’t really sit with me. Now I’m trying to just be me. It’s new, and strange, when sometimes I think there hasn’t been a me to start with. Just roles I was pushed into or that I created myself, and sometimes I think I was even fooling myself. I’m trying to not do that anymore.”

“I’m glad. Hopefully it’s more solid than some other things have proved to be.”

“I’ve found a few solid things yes,” she agrees. “And you should try to find those for yourself now. And don’t worry, it might take time, and it’s not easy, as much as I wish it could be. I’m guessing one of the possibly solid things is the reason why you’ll be staying there for at least the foreseeable future. How are you handling it anyway?”

Steve isn’t at all unsure of her meaning. “I see you and Sam had time to talk about my business besides yours.”

“Don’t dodge, Steve. Although I guess that’s an indication for itself.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s just hard,” Steve admits, for the first time aloud. “You mentioned a solid surface, and I’m hoping, but right now there’s no certainty, it feels. I don’t even know what I’m hoping for.”

“It’ll come,” Nat says, her voice gentle, and it reminds Steve of how she had felt the need to reassure him even when she’d just been shot and they were prisoners in the back of a HYDRA van.

They talk some more, Steve describes her some of the birds flying about, and she tells him of the little village by the Mediterranean in Greece where she’s settled for now. After they hang up Steve goes in and draws some of the birds on his tablet and emails them to her. It is comforting to him, talking to her, and all he can hope is she gets something out of it too.

***

It’s late in the evening, and Steve is contemplating on going to bed, even if he makes no move to actually doing it. He’s sitting on the wide window sill, looking over the city of Birnin Zana that’s illuminated by thousands of lights. When they first arrived he noticed that the color of the lights was different from cities in America. They were pure white instead of the yellowish hues that were  more familiar to his eye. Different technologies, although he’s read that with the LED light becoming more common, the color of lights in cities of the world is gradually changing. He wonders if the color was different during the forties too. He supposes it must have been, but he can’t actually tell, since his first impression had been that there were so many more lights, rather than their specific quality.

Most of the things are different in Wakanda, when it comes to technology. A lot of the design uses vibranium, the computer systems are completely different and the mobile networks are incompatible. There is the possibility for interfacing Wakandan phones and computers to outside networks, not the other way around, but at least it means they can stay in contact with their friends outside. An added bonus is that the communications can’t be traced.

As if on cue his phone rings right when he’s thinking about the differences in technologies. Looking at the screen, it’s not an entirely unexpected name he sees, but still a surprise.

“Hi, Tony.”

“What exactly are you doing, Rogers?”

Tony’s tone is more irritated than Steve expected, and his reply is out before he really considers that it might be seen as antagonizing, which he doesn’t really want to do. It just seems unavoidable sometimes when he’s dealing with Tony.

“Was just thinking of going to bed, how has your day been so far?”

Steve does a quick mental calculation, it’s mid-afternoon in New York.

“Kind of busy since the day before yesterday when we got a transmission that originated from a HYDRA base. When we got there it turned out all the personnel were already subdued. They’ve been taken to the authorities and the data is being analyzed and whatever else.”

“All in order then, it seems,” Steve says, keeping his voice neutral. Tony seems to have dialed down from the first burst, which means they might not end up arguing. He’ll just see where this goes.

“What I want to know is why? I thought you left all this behind when you left your shield.”

It’s not an unexpected request, and Steve takes a moment to arrange his thoughts.

“What I left behind was the mantle of Captain America, but it doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing what I used to. HYDRA needs to be stopped, and it doesn’t seem to be a priority for anyone else. Our government seems to want to get it out of their hands as soon as possible, pin the blame on a few scapegoats and turn a blind eye on the fact that the organization is still hiding.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Tony says, and there is a hint of resentment in his voice, which Steve tentatively takes as a good sign.

“I’m guessing they’re not too keen on letting you guys go after HYDRA in general, but if there is an obvious case, they can’t really say no either, because that would look bad.”

“So you guys are going to find them and then drop really obvious hints about it.”

“Seems to work. And as to why, back in the war I used Captain America so that I could go on field, go after HYDRA, but Steve Rogers always was the one with more reasons to do so. That hasn’t changed. Somebody has to weed them out; we can’t afford to let them grow strong again. And we all have reasons to do it, so we will, outside the system since we have to.”

“Speaking of the others,” Tony begins and Steve can’t help but tense up, “We talked to the prisoners, and they described you all. Wilson I didn’t doubt for a moment, and I see Wanda has stuck with you. Romanov too, and I guess the fifth was younger Carter, on a new career path. That’s an interesting collection of people, who was there, and especially who wasn’t. I hope your other Russian assassin hasn’t run off.”

“He hasn’t,” Steve says, and it comes out sharp, more than he intended. Bucky unsurprisingly is a sore spot, and probably will be for a long time.

Tony, however, does something Steve has never seen him do, and completely surprises him. He backs off. “Right, as long as you keep an eye on him. Clint wasn’t there either, I suppose? His family too was spirited away from under the noses of some very capable agents I hear.”

“I hope we agree that the kids don’t deserve to be a part of this power struggle and used as game pieces?”

“We really do,” Tony says, and now Steve is sure it’s relief he hears.

“They’re all fine,” Steve adds. “Clint’s gone back to his version of retirement. For now anyway.”

“For now. You need to watch your steps, Rogers,” Tony cautions, but it’s not a threat at all, it’s actual concern, and right then Steve knows they will be fine. It’ll take time, but now he believes they will get there.

“I am. I’m learning,” he says and trusts it’ll be taken the right way.

There is a moment of quiet before Tony adds one final thing, as if an afterthought, but Steve knows it really isn’t.

“Oh, I thought you might want to know, that base in Siberia got destroyed, and all the equipment in there rendered completely useless. Probably better that way, that technology is something that shouldn’t be in anyone’s possession.”

“You are absolutely correct there,” Steve says, feeling light.

***

It’s difficult to find a new routine. Steve trains, both by himself and with Wanda and Sam, checks on the quinjet maintenance and keeps in touch with Fury, Nat and Sharon. He takes at least a little time every morning and evening to sit in Bucky’s room.

Still, it feels like he’s drifting. There is the purpose, the task he’s chosen for himself, but right now all he can do is to keep ready. There is the more personal side too, everything to do with Bucky, but on that he really can’t do anything but wait. It’s sometimes difficult, but he’s made a decision to not pester anyone about the possible treatment. They are working on it, and his meddling won’t make it happen faster. He gets regular updates, and makes do with them.

He doesn’t really go out much into the city. He feels as much of an outsider as he used to right after waking up from the ice, everything different from what he knew. Now there’s the added aspect of everyone being able to tell he’s an outsider. At least a few years back, when he’d tried to get used to everything, he’d managed to be at least somewhat invisible and anonymous if he wanted to just take a walk in the city.

In Wakanda it won’t work, and as the country has been very much closed off to outsiders, Steve can guess not everyone is happy to have them there. Knowing this, he thinks it best to stay outside of it all as much as he can, at least for the time being. T’Challa has gone above and beyond in his hospitality, and the last thing Steve wants is to cause him trouble within his own country.

He’s in Bucky’s room, not writing his notes right then, but just contemplating on everything. The door opens, which never really happens when he’s there, and in slips a woman with a short hair, wearing a simple but elegant outfit. They’ve never officially met, but Steve knows who she is. T’Challa’s sister Shuri. He makes to get on his feet, but she motions at him not to, and comes to sit next to him, looking at Bucky, unconscious in his chamber. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and Steve is quiet too, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“My brother is the king of Wakanda, and that means he is its protector,” she begins, her voice clear and melodious, a voice of someone used to giving speeches. “I too love our country, and even if I’m not bearing the title of Black Panther, I’m no less protective of Wakanda. I see a similar instinct to protect in you,” she says, and Steve is under no illusion of what she means. After a pause she continues, “My brother promised a sanctuary for your friend, and extended it to all of you, knowing that people might come for you. For him.”

“And if you were the one making the decision, would you make a different one?”

Now she looks at Steve squarely in the eyes. “If I said yes, what would you do?”

“I would have him woken up, and we would leave,” Steve says, without hesitation.

“That is a smart decision. You know I have enough influence, that if I stand against it, he’s not safe here.” All through the exchange she’s stayed perfectly serene, unreadable.

“Yes, but there’s more to it. I owe you all a debt for sheltering us, and wouldn’t want to cause a strife within your family or your government. If our presence destabilizes things here, then we should leave.”

“You’re hoping you won’t have to, though. There are no safer places for you, and especially for him anywhere on the planet,” Shuri observes. “Here’s my question; if his presence here brought a danger to our country, would you stand with me and my brother to defend Wakanda, whatever it took?”

Steve doesn’t need to consider. “Yes.”

The shift in her is minute, but suddenly Steve can see her, the sincerity and even the little smile. “Then you can trust him to be safe here,” she simply states.

Shuri rises to his feet and Steve does the same. She turns to go, but stops at the door. “I understand you left your mantle behind, and with it your title. But I think you shouldn’t be surprised if people still saw you as the Captain.”

She obviously doesn’t mean Steve’s military rank, and Steve really has nothing to say to it. Instead he just nods at her, feeling deeply grateful.

When he’s alone, Steve sits down again, remembering his earlier talk with Natasha, about how he needs to pick up the pieces he has, and that he has to build his life anew. Some of the pieces he knows where they belong, others are falling in unexpected places. Looking at Bucky he wonders again what kind of a life he’s had during the last two years after Insight. What he had to do to remember, and how he put together the pieces he found. They didn’t really talk about it; there hadn’t been that much time. Also, while Bucky was awake, Steve was hesitant to ask too many questions, in case he hit the wrong ones. The only times he pushed was in Bucharest and later in Berlin when they were in a tight situation and he needed to get something out of Bucky.

He thinks back to the room in Bucharest, small and shabby, but still a place with life in it, more than somewhere to just hole out. Bucky clearly had managed to carve himself at least some sort of a life, but from the pieces he has, Steve can’t draw too many conclusions. There was the deliberate avoidance, and the denial of remembering that Steve knew to be an act, as well as he knows Bucky’s face even after all these years. Sometimes it feels like all he has is bits and pieces of data; the room, the files. They tell him woefully little of the man Bucky is now, and even less of what he might do after he’s woken up and the issue with the triggers is sorted.

All Steve can do is wait.

 

* * *

 

 

##### Backward – Remembering

_Disappear._

It was like a voice inside his head, reminding him of what to do. Disappearing was standard procedure, a skill that was as instinctual as shooting. There was a layer of instructions in his mind. _Don’t be seen. If seen, leave no witnesses. Disappear. Disappear._

_Disappear._

_Return to base._

Always, always return to base, within the time limit provided. That was the rule. Failure to comply would be met with consequences. Any failure was met with consequences. Success was expected, required, mandated.

This time, the mission parameters had been unusual. There had been no time limit, only instructions to make sure the helicarriers would be airborne, and that Captain America was dead. That had been his mission. There had been nothing else, no instructions for returning, no time limit. Nothing.

He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and made his way through the woods. He needed a shelter, soon. He’d dragged the unconscious Captain America onto the shore somewhat away from where the helicarriers had fallen, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the area would be crawling with emergency responders. Maybe within minutes, if the Captain happened to have a tracker on him.

As he walked, he pulled out a knife and used it to flip open a panel on his left arm and crush the tracker inside with a light stab. His injured right arm made him a little imprecise, but testing movement showed he hadn’t broken anything in the mechanics of the metal arm. The other tracker was implanted in his right inner thigh, next to the femoral artery. He switched the knife to his left hand, sat down and dug it out without hesitation. The amount of bleeding told him he’d managed not to nick the artery, so he stood up and continued after crushing the tiny transmitter.

He wasn’t supposed to know about the trackers but he did. He’d been trained to take a note of everything that happened around him, and he had, even when not on mission. The information got filed away and used later when needed.

The procedure for when out of a mission was to return to base, but technically he wasn’t outside the mission. The mission objective was twofold, and the first part was failed, the helicarriers were down. The second part was to kill Captain America, and as the man still lived, the mission was incomplete. No time limit technically meant he hadn’t failed that part yet, but he knew his handlers would take another view of the matter if they knew what had happened. He’d been there, and he could have killed the Captain and hadn’t. He could have left him in the river and most likely he would have drowned.

He’d gone fully against the mission, not really knowing why, except that the words the Captain had said had shattered everything, had made everything meaningless. Everything except maybe one thing. He’d known, and still knew, that he couldn’t hurt this man. It made him almost physically sick that he already had. And he’d known he couldn’t let him die, not when there was an ounce of breath left in him.

Couldn’t kill him, couldn’t let him die. That was what he knew. He knew two other things, too. First, that he wasn’t going to go back. Second, a name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

***

It took two days for his broken arm to knit together enough that it wouldn’t hinder him, even if it would be a risk during a fight. It wasn’t too much of a concern for him, though, since he planned to avoid confrontation.

Acquiring different clothes and shelter was no trouble at all. He found a house that was empty, the owners apparently on a trip, and cleaned up, took clothes that weren’t perfect but that he could wear, and used the television and computer to keep an eye on everything.

There was a lot of information, too much of it, and very soon he decided to not try and sort through any of the data dump from SHIELD and HYDRA. What he could tell was that SHIELD was no more, at least not in official capacity, although who knew what happened behind the scenes. HYDRA was definitely in hiding, but he knew enough to expect them to be lash out against any and all they could. This might have been a setback, a collapse of their greatest plan, but it certainly didn’t mean they were defeated. It meant he had to be on his guard.

Alexander Pierce was dead, and he didn’t know how he felt about the information. He thought he should have felt something, but it was part of the confusion he very deliberately kept away.

Captain America was alive, in a hospital. That left him with a feeling of satisfaction, not unlike completing a mission produced, and that similarity in turn made him uneasy.

These two pieces of information were the focal points for him, somehow the only ones that mattered. Everything else was secondary, even things directly connected to his personal safety. There were no official reports on him, he noted. There might well have been some police reports or eyewitness reports on social media, but right now it all was drowned in the new information. It appeared no one had zeroed on him, yet. He knew it probably wouldn’t last.

There was an instinct that told him that Captain America would focus on him, would come to look for him, but for now that wasn’t a concern either. The man was in the hospital, probably would be for at least a few more days, even counting the accelerated healing factor. Still, it meant his time was running out, and he’d need to disappear sooner rather than later.

He didn’t question why he was so sure the Captain would come after him. It was the kind of knowledge he’d learned to not question, something that felt like it was written in his bones.

He packed a backpack with things from the house he knew would be useful, took the little amount of cash he found and left. He changed his clothes at a thrift store, chose things that would fit him and conceal weapons. He left his old ones in the changing room, and the personnel clearly wasn’t the wiser of what had happened.

The next night he stashed his pack on a roof and entered an office building with his weapons ready. HYDRA had several safe houses around the city, and he’d filed the locations away as he came across them. This was a place he wasn’t supposed to know of, one where he’d never been to, which meant there was a smaller likelihood of anyone inside being ready for him. There actually was no one present, which was as he preferred. It meant that no one would know it had been him that broke in. He took surveillance equipment, weapons, money and produced a few IDs for himself under different names and nationalities. SHIELD’s methods were be better than criminals’, and he left the place fully ready to disappear.

He didn’t leave the city. He stuck to the suburbs, hid in empty houses, and generally lay low. It would have been tactically correct to go, to put distance between himself and his pursuers but somehow he couldn’t. He knew it was to do with the name Captain America had called him. Bucky, and later James Buchanan Barnes. He had no conscious memory of the names, and yet they seemed to belong to him. Only he didn’t have a name. Couldn’t. He was a ghost, the soldier, and that had always been enough.

He could have looked for the name. He had a phone with an Internet access on it, and he could have put the name on Google and see what would come up. Maybe something would turn up, if he was supposed to be someone Captain America knew. It hadn’t been a lie, the man had believed it when he’d said he knew him. Not to mention the irrational behavior of letting go of weapons, not fighting back. He knew about human behavior, it was essential for him to understand his targets, and this kind of surrender would only happen for someone important.

Who was James Buchanan Barnes to Captain America? Who was he in general?

Of course, he could just ask the Captain himself. The man wouldn’t be too difficult to find, even now that he was out of the hospital. A part of him wanted to do it, wanted to obey the pull he felt and to find out why. The calculating part knew that even if the Captain thought of him as his friend, there were probably a lot of people around him that didn’t. Maybe they’d just put him back where he’d come from, and the longer he’d stayed away the more sure he’d become that he’d never go back into the chair, would never let himself be put into ice.

He couldn’t take the risk, not when he didn’t know why the Captain cared so much about him.

There was another lead though, and it didn’t produce the kind of aversion he felt toward just googling the name. He knew there was a Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian; he’d seen the posters around the city. Maybe there would be something, maybe not, but it called to him almost as strongly as the man himself, without the added fear. At least he’d get information on the Captain, if nothing else.

It had been three weeks since the helicarriers came down, the security measures around the Mall were a little less strict, and the museum was open.

***

It wasn’t a difficult matter to avoid the metal detectors in the museum, and soon he was strolling in the halls among the other visitors. There was a hushed quality among the people, and he wondered if it was due to what had happened just weeks earlier. Maybe it had reminded the people that Captain America’s story was real, that the war had happened, and apparently still continued to happen.

Steve Rogers. Steve. He rolled the name inside his mind. He’d known it before, it had been among the data he’d been provided, but it hadn’t seemed that important. The name of the man who embodied the icon had seemed insignificant, until now that it wasn’t. In the museum, in front of the photos of the slight young man, suddenly Steve Rogers was the only name that fit, and the feeling carried on even when he moved further  and saw the photos after the transformation. Perhaps this was what he had come to find. He’d thought he was looking for information on the icon, but actually he’d been looking for the man. He looked for different details now. Not the uniform or weapons or the way he moved, to see indications of how he fought. Now he looked at those details he didn’t remember caring about ever before. The look in the blue eyes. The curve of mouth, and the slope of shoulders that indicated self-consciousness, hidden but there.

He moved past displays, and caught the other name, James Barnes, Bucky, here and there. It was all around the displays, among the Howling Commandos, among the soldiers Rogers rescued from the HYDRA base in Austria. Next to the mannequin wearing a blue jacket. He found his fingers twitching when he looked at it.

Finally he came to the display with the name on top, and a photo of a man that looked like him. Had the same features anyway. He’d looked into mirror a countless times since going into hiding, and the look in his eyes was not the same as this man had. Now he knew why Rogers thought he knew him, but it didn’t mean this was him. There were dates, a date of birth, and a date of death. This man had been lost into an icy ravine a long time ago, and couldn’t be alive, the rational part of his mind told him. He just looked like a dead man, another ghost.

And yet. The rest of him was sure, so sure, that this was him. He didn’t know how it could have happened, but this, this he knew. Deep in his bones like he knew how to check for the wind to make sure his bullets met their mark. The same way that he now knew he had known Steve Rogers once, better than anyone, maybe better than himself. Logic had no room here, not when presented with this kind of knowing.

This had been his life, and somehow he’d lost it, somehow he’d been made into a ghost.

He looked down, to the loop of film playing near the display. It was grainy and silent, but there was Rogers, easily identifiable, and Barnes in every clip sitting or standing close by. When it showed the two of them standing next to each other talking and laughing the way he wasn’t sure his face knew how to move anymore, he had to leave. On the way out he wondered if it had been the same for Rogers as well. Had he too known that they knew each other, against all that logic would tell? Was the knowledge written in his bones as well?

***

James Buchanan Barnes.

He’d decided to believe it had used to be his name, and now he, nameless for many years, decided that it was his name again. He wondered if it was that simple, to just take a name that didn’t belong to anyone and have it be his. Or had the name been his all along, even if he hadn’t known it? He couldn’t tell.

He considered again whether he should find Steve Rogers, but decided against it. There was too much confusion, even with the information from the Smithsonian he couldn’t tell what it meant that they had been best friends. It didn’t mean anything, inside his head. The words didn’t connect. There were things he knew about Steve Rogers, knew without knowing how, but it didn’t help him at all. He needed to remember more, needed to create some order into everything in his head. He wanted to be sure before making contact, and it was why he finally left the city.

He hopped onto a freight train that was moving toward west, not really caring where he was going. While he was crouched in the car, he carefully handled the thought that had been growing at the back of his head. He’d pushed it away, but he couldn’t deny it had influenced his decision to leave.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t remember. He knew it had something to do with the chair and the pain, and he also knew things were coming back, slowly but it was happening. Because he couldn’t remember, he didn’t know how it had happened that even if he’d been friends with Rogers, they had fought against each other this time. All he knew was it had happened. HYDRA had been his world, and Rogers had fought HYDRA. He didn’t know what it would mean in the long run, how Rogers would react after he thought about it. Would he renounce their friendship since he’d fought on a different side, after the first shock of recognition would pass? It seemed all too likely.

Would he himself care if Rogers would never want anything to do with him?

***

He bought a used pickup truck from a town that looked much like the five before it he’d seen from the train, and drove on, sticking to smaller roads instead of highways. During the days he concentrated on driving, planning on where to go next and keeping watch. Sometimes he slept at roadside motels, sometimes under the sky. Summer had fully arrived, and he didn’t really get cold anyway.

He only let the memories come at nighttime. It was a lot like a flood, when he let everything that he usually kept barred away at the back of his mind wash over him. It wasn’t very coherent at all, just snippets. Some of them he chased after, others he wanted to recoil from but didn’t. He looked right into them, right into the horror and tried to understand what it meant.

He had a notebook and he scribbled in it everything that made at least some sense, and a lot of things that didn’t really, but that felt significant. He regularly leafed through the book, sometimes adding things to previous notes, sometimes crossing things out. Time passed and he bought another notebook, and yet another.

There were some certainties, and some more built upon the things he’d decided to believe, expanding from them. There was Steve, and everything connected to him, and it felt like almost two distinct lines of life.

There was the Steve that was smaller than him, one that loved to draw and read stories about ancient heroes. The one with more temper than could fit inside him, and brightness he couldn’t describe. They were only flashes at first, bits and pieces, but little by little they got bigger and connected to each other. There were hard things, fear when coughs racked through Steve’s frail body, but also lazy summer days for which Bucky couldn’t name an emotion.

Then there was the other Steve, the one he recognized as Captain America, broad shoulders and a star on his chest. There was the war, and the horror of it, and the weight of a rifle in Bucky’s hand. This Steve was more serious, in some moments almost heartbroken, and in the next clenching his jaw and setting his sights ahead. There were others too, a group of men fanned around them in the dim forests and around the campfire. A woman with red lips and eyes only for Steve, and a man talking too fast, filled with cocky confidence, and his stomach clenched at the memory.

There was the knowledge that different though they were in many ways, both the Steves in his head were the same. He’d known it, deep in his bones when he’d lain on the table and the stranger with familiar eyes spoke and turned out to not a be a stranger after all.

He spent many nights wondering what had happened to make Steve so much a part of him. When had it happened, had there been a day after which it had been written inside, deeper than any mind wipe could reach? Had it happened gradually, unnoticed so that it just became true? He wondered too if it was like that for Steve, if Steve knew him the way he knew Steve. How the amount of facts he could have told about Steve didn’t matter. The way their connection went deeper than any of that.

***

He never noticed how he went from thinking of Steve as Captain America to thinking of him by the impersonal last name to thinking of him as Steve, the way he must have done _before._ It was only after the fact that he realized it. By then he’d taken to calling himself Bucky, even if it wasn’t on any of his IDs. Neither was James. Or Barnes. Those didn’t matter though, they were not who he was.

And he was Bucky. He didn’t quite know yet what it all meant, but at least it had started to feel like his name, instead of something he’d stripped off a dead man and started to wear himself.

***

Fall came, and it got harder to separate nights and days, to keep himself from not drowning in the memories. They were there all the time, impossible to ignore. He wondered if it was a phase, or if it was something that all people experienced and he’d have to get used to, or if something was wrong with him. Could have been any of these.

He was holed in a motel, fifth day without moving on, and he knew the risk of being discovered grew every day he spent there. It was impossible to leave. He knew he wouldn’t be able to drive and walking didn’t feel safe either, not when he kept seeing the past mixed up with present. There was Steve, standing in a shabby New York apartment, right in the middle of his motel room. There were faces, seen through the scope of his rifle, falling down as the bullets met their mark. There were others, closer, their breath being choked out of their bodies, their blood in his hands.

He stayed in the room, trying to ride it out while surviving on protein bars. Five days, and it had only gotten worse as time had passed. He wondered if this was it, if he was going to lose it. Maybe that was the reason HYDRA kept wiping his memory, to keep this from happening. Yet, when he looked at the possibility of having it all taken away, the aversion was so strong he had to stumble into the bathroom to throw up. He wasn’t going to go back. Not if he could do anything to stop it. He’d kill himself before letting them take everything from him again.

On the tenth day he was crouched in the bathtub, all of his guns and knives within reach. He hadn’t moved in over thirty hours. Hadn’t slept in over sixty. The tangle was still there in his head, but for the first time since he stopped at the motel his mind felt clearer. It felt like things had somehow slotted in place. He didn’t seem to remember any more than he had before the crash, but now there was a sense that if he pulled at the threads he might get somewhere. It still wouldn’t be easy, he knew it wouldn’t, but now it was again manageable.

His knees creaked when he got up. He made himself drink some water and eat a protein bar, hid three guns under a coat and went out to take a look around. Ideally he should leave, but he knew he needed to sleep before he’d be fit to drive. Still, it appeared he was undetected so far, and he went back into his room and collapsed into the nest of bedding he’d made on the floor in a shelter between the wall and the bed.

Ten hours later he was on the road again. In the next town over he abandoned his car and took a bus to the other side of the state.

***

As winter closed in he made his way toward south, first to the southern states and finally to Mexico. Spanish came easily to him, and he liked the people. He considered sometimes staying in some small town, since he was reasonably sure his trail had gone cold. Only he knew he stood apart from the locals, and hence he kept going.

He’d painstakingly sorted out his memories and made notes of everything. He had a reasonably good sense of his life before the war, the snippets came together and formed a story. After that, it got tricky. He knew he’d fought at Steve’s side during the war, and he knew he’d killed for HYDRA later. These periods got easily mixed, if only since he was looking through the scope of his rifle so often in his memories. There were a few precious bright moments that he definitely knew happened _before,_ like Steve looking at him under the muted lights at the bar, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then there were faces of people he’d killed that hit him hard, in a different way from those he remembered bearing uniform. The faces screamed of after.

He had memories of snow, and a train, and falling. Fear in Steve’s too large eyes.

He felt like he was stuck, not making any progress, and with the feeling came a sense of place. This was the wrong place. He wouldn’t be able to sort everything out here. After realizing this, he made his way to the coast and took a job on a cargo ship heading east.

***

He left the ship in Rotterdam, and immediately took it on himself to find some more suitable clothes. February in Netherlands wasn’t the coldest weather he’d endured, and it would take a lot more before the temperatures would be a risk to him, even in his light jacket. However, his aim was to fit in, and dressing like most others helped in that.

He hadn’t cut his hair, and kept the stubble. It helped him to not look like the man in history books, and it was done both to keep people accidentally making the connection, and for himself. He knew his name was James Barnes, knew he used to be called Bucky, and it had become the name he thought of himself with, but he was not the same man portrayed in the history books. He was more than that, and less. That was how it felt like, and he didn’t want to look like he had done before. Fortunately it seemed the style with long hair and stubble wasn’t that uncommon, and he chose clothes that matched. Since it was cold enough that a lot of other people wore gloves too, no one looked at him twice, and he didn’t need to come up with stories about being a war veteran.

In his stash he had a Romanian passport, which he used in all of his dealings. It explained the hint of accent in his French, while allowing him the freedom of movement in most of Europe.

He made his way toward east, and he soon knew he’d been right. Here it was easier to sort out the threads between wartime and his time with HYDRA. He visited places that were familiar from decades past, filled more notebooks, and his memories sorted themselves out almost without help. He started cleaning out the books, rewriting things in order, but he kept the old ones too.

His dreams changed, and not for the better. They were no longer flashes and chaos, the kind that left him uneasy but could be shaken away since there was no significance. Now, there were faces, names and the knowledge he had killed them all without hesitation, without even questioning whether he should do it.

Looking back, all he did was question. Now he couldn’t imagine killing people just because he was told to, without being given a reason why. How had it come to that? Why had he gone along? The questions plagued him as he moved from place to place.

He remembered enough of his time with HYDRA that he knew they’d used a machine to clean out his memories, and that they had somehow instilled a sequence of words that made him more of a mechanism than a man. If you took care of your gun, it reliably sent a bullet on its way when pulled a trigger. With him it had been similar, say the words and he reliably had done what he’d been told to, despite any obstacle or hardship. Personal injury had meant nothing. Now it was difficult to fathom that this could have been achieved. That a mere string of words could override a person. Yet it had happened, and he had to accept it as the truth.

Still, he was no gun. Shouldn’t he have been able to fight against it? Shouldn’t he have told them no, this was not what he wanted? What did it make him that he hadn’t?

***

It was early spring when he made it to Russia. He’d switched to using his Russian passport, and crossing the border from Belarus went without problems. It was a clear and cold day in Moscow when he arrived, probably one of the last days of spring when temperatures made it below freezing. He stayed at the outskirts of the city, where he felt more comfortable.

He knew he could have continued toward east. They’d kept him at a base in Siberia for a long time, but now he couldn’t see the point of actually going to see it. There was also the slight possibility that it was still used, and he had no intention of risking being captured, especially since the base quite possibly still contained the equipment for mind control.

He was not going back to it.

He’d also come to the conclusion that seeing the place wouldn’t give him anything new. He knew enough of himself now, he remembered enough. He knew what he was.

He remembered having been James Barnes, resident of Brooklyn, best friend to Steve. He remembered having been a sergeant of the US army. He remembered the Howling Commandos, and the war, fighting against HYDRA. He remembered being that man that was often referred to as a hero in the history books. He remembered, but the memories didn’t connect, they didn’t quite feel like his. There was a distance he couldn’t cross.

He also remembered killing for HYDRA, killing people the man who fought against HYDRA never would have. He remembered killing people he now knew didn’t deserve to die. These memories were visceral, brutal in their clarity. He had no doubts over whose hands were covered in blood, who pulled the trigger.

There were the two sides of him, both true, and he didn’t know how to reconcile them. He wasn’t sure anyone would know. That meant he’d have to stay hidden. He would have to hide from HYDRA, so that they wouldn’t take him back. And he knew he would have to hide from Steve, because he could see only two ways of how it would go, and neither one was a good option.

One possibility was that Steve saw what he’d done with HYDRA, and would take him in to face justice, to receive the punishment he deserved. Maybe he should have let that happen, but while he trusted that Steve would only aim for that, Bucky didn’t really trust the other people around him. What if the US government, or the military, or whatever had replaced SHIELD would look at what he had done and decided he should keep on, just under them. It didn’t seem too unlikely, and Steve wouldn’t be able to prevent it.

The other possibility was that Steve would still consider Bucky as his friend, and ignore everything he’d done with HYDRA. Steve would try to protect him, and it could only lead to a downfall for Steve. Bucky didn’t see any other end for it, and it wasn’t something he deserved. Neither was it something Steve deserved.

It was better if Steve never found him.

That decided, Bucky started back toward west. Russia wasn’t a place where he wanted to stay.

***

During the two years that he’d been on the run Bucky had often thought about someone finding him. He’d landed on the conclusion that if and when someone appeared, it would most likely be Steve, if only because Steve was stubborn enough to never give up. He’d thought about all kinds of possible scenarios for the meeting, reasons for Steve to be there. He’d thought about what his reaction should be in any given situation, so that he’d be ready.

Turned out he wasn’t ready, because maybe there was no way of being ready for something like this. He’d tried to tell himself that he had no preference for which scenario should come true, but he’d known from the start that he’d been lying to himself. And this one certainly wasn’t ideal. Someone had framed him for terrorism; maybe because he was convenient, maybe for some more complicated reason. All he knew was that he needed to get away. The plan was to get his things, and wasn’t it inconvenient that he nowadays had things he didn’t want to leave without. He couldn’t just drop everything and disappear as he best knew how. The plan hit a snag right at the beginning, because Steve was standing in the middle of his tiny hole in the wall place. Full battle gear on, and Bucky knew what it meant.

Steve believed it was possible Bucky actually was responsible for the attack in Vienna.

Bucky didn’t blame Steve, after all Steve must have had a record of what he’d done for HYDRA, and besides had experienced it first hand. Bucky pushed away the wave of threatening nausea when he remembered shooting Steve on the helicarrier. The actual act of taking the shot wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the remembered feeling of satisfaction when his target had finally gone down.

He’d wondered how Steve would feel about what he’d done, and now he knew. It was only fair, and he did as he’d decided, made it easy for Steve. There was no need for Steve to know he remembered, it would only make everything harder, and if there was something Bucky could do to spare Steve, he was going to. He didn’t let on how much he actually did remember Steve.

Only he should have remembered what it meant that Steve was stubborn. One of the things Steve had never been able to do was let go of something he thought Bucky was hiding from him, and Bucky never had been that good at hiding things from Steve. Had never been good at all at lying to Steve. Apparently he still wasn’t, and Steve wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let things happen as they should have. Steve still had to put himself between Bucky and the danger, as he’d done before. As Bucky had done for Steve countless times.

Maybe it was the reminder, the proof that not everything had changed, that made Bucky wonder what exactly Steve’s stubbornness could achieve. At the end of it all, he wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not, that he decided to show Steve he remembered after all.

***

(Looking back later, he would see the significance of the meeting in that shabby apartment in Bucharest, a moment much more important than he knew then. Both for himself and for Steve. It was one of those moments where every path converged and then diverged again, their course forever altered.)

 

* * *

 

##### Forward – The New Unusual

Routines are still an easy thing to fall into, even when everything is so strange that Steve doesn’t even realize he’s making routines before they are ingrained. He runs. He trains with Sam and Wanda. He keeps in touch with Fury, stays up to date on HYDRA’s movements. He talks or messages to Sharon and Nat every few days, and it’s not even mission related all the time.

There are missions though, not always as big as their first one, or requiring the whole team. It’s nearly every week he flies back to Europe, sometimes just to talk strategy, sometimes for action. He and Nat extract a HYDRA defector, who turns out not so surprisingly to be a ruse to try and lure someone in. Unfortunately for that particular HYDRA cell, they weren’t at all proficient enough to deal with the two of them. They do suffer cuts and bruises, a bullet grace on Nat’s thigh and a knife through Steve’s left bicep, but they come back with a lot more information than they expected, and one HYDRA cell less. Mission accomplished well enough.

When he gets back to Wakanda Sam looks like he wants to give him a lecture about taking risks. He actually does give one to Natasha on the phone only to be silenced midway through. Steve has an idea of the sort of comment she might have made to get him to stop, and has to struggle to try and not laugh.

“It’s a good thing she likes you, because you kind of sounded like you were suggesting she doesn’t know how to take care of herself right there,” Steve says when Sam hangs up, putting words, if only a little bit, on what he’s noticed happening between the two.

Sam stares at him for a long moment before he says, “You are both fucking menaces, why did they even think you guys should be allowed work together?”

“Well, there was this little alien invasion,” Steve starts and actually laughs when Sam stalks away.

Steve talks to Tony too, every now and then. Sometimes he calls, sometimes Tony does, and they almost pointedly don’t talk about anything personal, not like that first time. It’s all about HYDRA, the Avengers, about Ross and how he wants to run the superheroes. The Avengers make appearances sometimes, but so far they haven’t been ordered to take part in any conflicts that are outside of HYDRA’s doing. The growing discord between the nations that signed the Accords means that most of them are not keen on having the Avengers act within their borders. It’s not a good situation by any means, because it means they might not respond fast enough when there is a crisis where the Avengers are needed, but there doesn’t seem to be a viable resolution in the immediate future.

Despite the discussions being all about business, they gradually get warmer and easier. Tentative jokes start to appear, some light ribbing, and later not so light. Steve and Tony’s relationship never lacked sharp points, and they’ve had fairly regular arguments, but that was pretty much expected, considering their personalities and histories. Step by little step Steve thinks they are moving back toward something solid. It will never be the same, but he believes it can be something good again, something stronger than they used to have. It feels like a miracle.

***

One afternoon Shuri comes to him with three women that Steve recognizes as members of the Dora Milaje, the guardians of the king. Shuri explains that while they are highly trained, they mostly know about the outside world only through second hand sources due to the isolation of Wakanda. Now that their country is starting to open up more, and the king travels abroad, they would benefit from learning from someone that’s actually an outsider.

Steve agrees to instruct them on weapons and the strategies commonly applied by armies and security organizations, which he studied extensively during his time with SHIELD. He’s well aware that most of the Dora Milaje don’t trust him even a little for themselves, only through their king. Regardless they are dedicated and professional, take learning very seriously, and are way more capable than any group of SHIELD trainees Steve has happened to instruct.

One of them, Okoye, who seems to be some sort of leader in the group, although Steve can’t quite figure out their hierarchy, since they deliberately seem to keep it from him, talks to him even outside the lessons. From her he learns a bit more about the Dora Milaje and their history, and in return he tells her of the history of the outside world, and the difficulties as well as delights he experienced when he entered the modern society. It’s not that different from her experience either; she too is having to enter a whole another world. Of course, she can always come back, even when her home is constantly changing, it’s nothing as drastic as what happened to Steve.

“Traditionally we only spoke to each other and the king,” she tells him one day, when they are having lunch after training. “The tradition of having the Dora Milaje guard the king had fallen out of practice until King T’Chaka reinstated it. The rule of not talking to anyone else was never enforced as strictly, and now it’s much different.”

“Because your role in the changing world is also changing,” Steve guesses.

“Correct. We can’t hang onto the past, because doing so would make us less effective. And our point of pride is to be better than any similar group.”

“I’d say you are reaching that goal. Certainly ahead of the Secret Service that protects our President.”

“Do you know why we are all women?”

“I’ve wondered,” Steve confesses, “but it’s not really my place to ask.”

“It is because traditionally we are chosen to be the king’s guards, yes, but also candidates to be his wife. Each tribe selects a daughter to serve among our ranks, and hence each tribe has a chance that the queen would be from among them.”

“Oh,” Steve says, not really finding words. It is a tradition, he knows, and it’s not his place to question traditions of other people when he doesn’t understand them.

“These days, not everyone is happy with the practice,” Okoye says, probably catching his hesitation. “Not even among us. I’m happy here, though. I know I won’t be a queen, nor do I want to.”

***

The new tradition Steve observes most faithfully is visiting Bucky, every morning and evening unless he’s away from the country. He sits in the room, sometimes plays music, discusses with Abeni and her team about the progress with their work to try and remove the triggers. He writes in his journal every day, about what he’s done, the people he’s met, sometimes mentions the books he reads or draws pictures.

He also writes about their past, at home in Brooklyn, or during the war. Lately he’s been remembering the strange months in 1943 after Bucky left for Europe. It was the longest time he had spent without seeing Bucky since they met as children, and despite everything new, despite being Captain America and people finally _looking_ at him and not wanting to sneer, he was lonely. Lonely, and often so scared he ached. He’d learned about the war business, and even though he had no idea what it was truly like on the front, he still couldn’t escape the fact that people were constantly losing their lives. He also knew that considering where Bucky was stationed, it was almost more likely than not that they’d never see each other again.

Sometimes Steve spends hours lost in the memories, and comes back to their apartment to the concerned glances of Sam that he tries to ignore. It’s probably not good, he knows it, and yet he can’t not think about the time they spent apart. Not now when Bucky again is unreachable. Now that it’s again uncertain how or when or even if they can meet again.

Steve is also aware that while Bucky is here in Wakanda as safe as he can be, Steve is much less so due to his pursuit of HYDRA. Hence, for all that Sam says that he’s reckless, and even has cause to, Steve does take as many precautions for himself and his whole team as he can and still be effective. There is the possibility that Bucky will wake up into a world where Steve is gone, but Steve intends to make that possibility as small as he can without compromising more than he can bear. Of course he knows the potential for him to get hurt would be much less if he stayed in Wakanda, but he knows he would hate it, and that hatred might get tangled with Bucky, and Steve won’t allow it to happen. Can’t let it happen.

***

One evening Steve comes from seeing Bucky, exhausted by memories, and goes straight to bed. He wakes up in only a few hours, face wet with tears, an ache in his chest that makes him double over. It’s as if all of the losses he’s suffered were crashing over him all at once. His home before he went to ice and the life he might have had. All of his friends that are now gone. Bucky, whom he’s lost and got back, and seems to only keep losing despite doing everything in his power for it to not happen. And Peggy.

The loss of Peggy is the sharpest of all that night. Steve suddenly knows he hasn’t really had time to grieve for her. There were the few days until her funeral, but then the world spiraled out of control, and Steve was sucked into the conflict where he was all the more determined to not lose the last link to the past, however thin, he still had. After everything calmed down he’s tried to not think about his life other than their pursuit of HYDRA or something to do with Wakanda. It’s probably foolish, but he’s been pushing away the pain just for now. He’s been failing on that constantly when it comes to Bucky, really has been setting himself up to fail with the journal, and this night it’s Peggy’s turn to invade his thoughts.

He was happy that she was still alive when he came back, even when she’d moved on in her life. It’s what he wanted for her, and she’d done well for herself. He was always proud of her; he still is, and will be for the rest of his life. He knows he’s privileged to have been a part of her life, and he loved her to the very last day, even if the shape of it had ended up being something other than he’d thought it would be during the war. That love hasn’t died yet, and maybe it never will. It has shaped him, and continues to shape him. Maybe someday he’ll be able to feel it without pain, let it be a fond memory instead of something hurting as it does now.

It’s like the floodgates have opened, and now that the grief is on the surface, he will have to deal with it. It’ll take a long time, he knows, but at least he can lean on the fact that Peggy had a good life.

In the morning Steve is back in Bucky’s room earlier than usual. He puts on music and listens to it, tries to not think about anything, and doesn’t write in the journal. He takes a long run, and doesn’t feel much better after it. He’s more quiet than usual at breakfast, grateful that he doesn’t have anything scheduled that day. Sam and Wanda are there, a quiet companionship that is soothing, them clearly being aware that he’s having a hard day. They don’t ask about it, just stay with him, and all three of them end up on the balcony, reading their books but still together.

***

There is another HYDRA base, and the mission is ridiculously easy but comes with an extremely troubling undercurrent, because there’s no one in. The base is fully operational, but abandoned, apparently recently, which to Steve points to only one conclusion, and he’s not alone making the connection.

“Damn,” Sharon says next to him, going through the scanned images of the base on the quinjet hovering some distance away. “Fury needs to do some spring cleaning.”

“And move,” Steve adds.

“Yeah. He’s got a back-up base in Slovakia, so we’ll probably go there. I’ll talk to him, help him with the vetting,” Nat says, her mouth tight in a way that Steve almost feels sorry for the infiltrated HYDRA agents. “It’s not spring anymore though.”

“Well, that’s the point isn’t it,” Steve says, making sure he’s got everything he needs for when they go in. “Way too late.”

“Bingo,” Sharon says and flashes a grin at him.

He’s finding his feet with Sharon, being friends without it getting complicated, and no lies between them. It’s surprisingly easy, leaving everything else behind. She makes a good addition to their team, fit in right away even though the rest of them have trained together for over a year and gotten used to each other the way she hasn’t had a chance.

They finish looking through the scans and conclude that as far as they can tell, there are no traps set up. There probably is some sort of self-destruct mechanism, but it hasn’t been tripped, and there are no electrical transmissions going to the base or from it. To be safe, Sam and Wanda destroy all external antennas and transmitters before they go in. They stick together, keeping an eye on traps that may have been missed by the scan, and Redwing flies ahead, doing the interior scan to make sure everything is fine.

They come to a large door made of steel and by then they are deep enough inside to know there are most likely no traps left for them. Steve heaves the door open, noting it’s heavy enough for him that he wonders how the HYDRA agents managed it, and they go in.

They all stop inside the threshold, just looking at the tanks illuminated by the glow of blue lights near the floor. They can’t see too many details, but it’s clear enough what has been happening in the room. Biological experiments, on humans and other animals. Steve registers what the room is, and turns to his team.

“Okay, we’ll split up now. Sam, Sharon, Wanda, you guys find the computers and copy all the data. Find out if they have some other experimental research here, weapons or something, same as usual. Regular checkups on the radio. Nat, you and I look through this place.”

“Right,” Nat says, everyone else nods and they file away through the door. Nat goes to the light switch, and at Steve’s nod flips it on.

The lights overhead are pure white, flooding the space with brightness, and the tanks turn out to be just as garish as Steve suspected. He and Nat pick their way through the room, looking for the research files, and to see if there are prisoners. They find no one alive.

After a minute Nat says, “I know what you did there just now, making them go away.”

Steve sighs. “Not all of us need to have this in their heads. And for all that they are professionals and could handle this if needed, the two of us are more experienced in compartmentalizing things like this. We don’t have to discover ways to handle it, because we already know.”

“I think this is one of those times when it’s kind of a compliment to be here and yet not at all,” Nat says, and Steve lets out a breath one step away from laughter.

“Yeah, it kind of is exactly like that.”

“Okay, so I learned to compartmentalize because that’s how they made me,” Nat begins and Steve notes the frankness of the admission, no dodging at all like she usually does because she doesn’t want to give her vulnerabilities away. It means she’s going to ask something very personal, and Steve knows exactly what it is. “So where did you learn?”

“Well, you know this thing called World War II that I fought in,” Steve begins, mostly to get her to roll her eyes as she does. “But seriously, it’s hard to explain to anyone that wasn’t there. I mean, there are reports and documentaries and testimonials, but it can never catch up to what we really went through. They never manage to portray how bad it really was.

“I’ve talked to veterans here, and mostly even they don’t get it. I mean, war is always horrible, but the one we fought was just something else. There was the knowledge that the man next to you at the mess probably would be dead by next week. You would probably be dead the next week. And it would be in some garish way in the trenches where you pretty much waded in bodies and blood. We all knew that, and you dealt with it or didn’t. A lot of people didn’t. On top of that, our team went after HYDRA. It really was a miracle that we made it five out of seven through the war.”

“I think there was some skill involved,” Nat says, and Steve quirks his mouth, because she doesn’t quite get it yet.

“Not really. I mean, we were good, but what we did, it was so beyond anything else. It was luck, a hell of a lot of it. I could spend the next hour recounting all the ways we were lucky. And finally it ran out that day on the train.”

“Okay, but that’s still not quite the same as this,” she says, and now she’s found the red thread.

“Everyone knows I went to Austria after Bucky. In the records it says 107th, but in all honesty, it was for Bucky. They tell the story, but usually don’t elaborate what went on in that place. It was a weapons factory, but it was also Zola’s place for human experimentation. Trust me, all this,” Steve waves his hand around the room, “is a lot cleaner than what he had there. And I found Bucky in the middle of all that. I thought he’d managed to miss all of it, but obviously not. He never talked about it.”

“And that was your first real experience of frontlines,” Nat says, and Steve can tell she gets it now.

“Yeah, it was. And it wasn’t the only time we saw stuff like that. We made it our job to clean out the HYDRA strongholds after all. So we learned to deal, because it was the only way to make it through.” He falls quiet, then adds, “Not always in the best ways, I suspect.”

“Well, in our defense,” she says, and Steve notes the pronoun and knows what it signifies, “I’m not sure there is a good way of dealing with this. Making it through at all is fairly good.”

“Got to keep targets low enough, you say.”

“As if you’ve ever done that, though,” she notes to him, and it lightens the mood just enough.

They don’t learn much, all the research they find in the room they decide is best left there to be destroyed, because it’s the kind of research the world doesn’t need. There are also obvious signs that a lot has been cleared out as the agents and scientists left.

On their way to the main computer room where the others have gathered, Steve continues their earlier discussion.

“You know, sometimes I realize that I probably sound kind of blase about all kinds of horrors, due to what we went through. Compared to it, nothing seems that horrifying, and it gave me a way to deal with a lot of things.

“The worst thing back then was how it felt like there was no control over any of it. We did all we could, and yet it felt like we didn’t make a dent at it. The horrible things just continued piling on top of one another, and there was no end at sight. So far here everything that has happened has always been something with a clear goal, with us knowing what to do to make it end, and it’s so much easier in the head to deal with that, despite how horrible things become.”

“Or there are things like HYDRA here, which sometimes feel like they never end, but we can deal with it, and it’s not nearly as horrible,” Nat says, and Steve knows she fully gets him now.

“Exactly. A full scale alien invasion would probably top the war in the scale of awful, but not much else, and there’s no use thinking about that before it happens.”

“I suspect Fury might have plans for that too.”

“Might, but there’s always the thing, you can’t really plan for something if you don’t know what it is. I’d rather put our energies now to fight the enemies we know of.”

***

Steve never had siblings, and he never really bothered missing some either, he always knew it wasn’t going to happen. Ever since he met Bucky they spent a lot of time together and were closer than most brothers, but he never even considered to think of Bucky as his brother. It happened sometimes, he knew children who had no siblings but decided to informally adopt their friends as such, but it never occurred to Steve. He couldn’t have explained why, but it just didn’t feel right, even when he was young. Even less so when he grew older.

Now with Wanda it almost feels like he’s gained a little sister. It happened gradually, almost without him noticing. First it was just about feeling responsible over her, in the same way he’s always felt responsible over his team. Later, when they got to know each other better, he couldn’t help noticing they have a lot of comparable experiences. It has always been easy talking to her, even in the early days after Ultron when trust was still brittle between all of them. In a strange way out of all of his friends it’s almost easiest to talk to her about Bucky. Steve feels like he doesn’t have to explain their relationship to her, somehow she seems to instinctively understand it even when he doesn’t really have words for it.

There are the losses they both have suffered, while not same but similar in nature, and there are more than a few connective points between his experience with the serum and how she got her powers. They both volunteered because they believed in something, and they got what they had wanted, and on the other hand very much not. It doesn’t matter that the enhancements they have ended up with are nothing alike, it’s still very much comparable.

One evening after spending hours in the gym training, they are eating their dinner on the balcony. It’s just the two of them, since that week Sam is back in Europe, on a recon mission with Nat. The two of them have it easily covered, and Steve suspects Sam might take a few days after mission before returning to Wakanda.

The topic of the serum comes up, and Steve finds himself explaining about the aspects that haven’t made it to history books, or even the official records for that matter.

“Right after it, when I was alone, I found it was hard to look into a mirror. After a few days I got tired at flinching at seeing myself, and stared into one for hours. I tried to get used to how I looked, but it was also that I couldn’t quite convince myself that it was me. I knew I’d changed all over. Every sensory response was different. I even thought in a different way, the process had altered, I could tell even then. And it only got worse later, when I realized how much I could remember.” Steve lets out a breath and looks at her, feeling the wry smile on his lips. “I have a photographic memory, I can memorize long excerpts of whatever I read, and yet, the reason they gave me the shield for the USO tour was because in the beginning I couldn’t remember my lines. I suspect the serum just heightened the stage fright I had.”

She smiles and asks, “Could that even happen?”

“Well, if you start thinking of it, it felt like everything was turned up. Every emotion. Everything was just so intense before I got used to it. Dr. Erskine told me the serum would amplify everything, but it was only after the procedure that I realized what he meant by it.”

“Even happiness? Or fear?”

Steve sighs. “Even those. Anger too. After Dr. Erskine was murdered, I chased the killer running through New York on bare feet, and didn’t even realize I’d cut my  soles doing so. Granted, they healed pretty fast, but I didn’t even feel the pain. All I could think of was catching the man.”

She’s quiet for a while and then says, “I can feel the magic moving in my head. All the time. It’s me and it isn’t, and sometimes I find myself thinking of something I don’t recognize, and it makes me wonder about what exactly I have in my head, all over me really.”

“You had a hard time recognizing yourself in the beginning as well,” Steve says, not having to ask.

“Yes. But then, there was my brother. He too had changed, and yet he was still him. And he knew me. I try to remember that when it’s difficult.”

“When I found Bucky in the prison camp in Austria, he was out of it, but he still recognized me. It was only then that I was able to believe that I was still me, despite everything.”

“And now he’s here, with his memories and identity shaky,” Wanda observes.

“Yeah. Sometimes I could do with the world having less of a sense of irony,” Steve admits, and it startles a laugh out of her.

“We never really know what we get beforehand. Back with HYDRA,” she continues, “when we volunteered, we knew there would be a prize to pay, but we believed the chance was worth it. I for one even considered that it might cost us our lives, and back then I was resolved regardless. Only I could never have known how much it would hurt.”

“We never do,” Steve says. “The serum, in many ways was, and is, a gift. That’s how I saw it, and there were people who thought it was the only thing I saw. But I did know there would be a cost. For one, I basically signed my life away to the service of the US Army. And it only got worse from there. I never could have imagined the end result, what happened to me, but it was still my choice, and it wasn’t made because I disregarded the cost. Of course it ended up being a lot different from what I’d prepared for, but it doesn’t change the fact that I made the choice because I believed it was worth it.”

“And now?” she asks, something brittle in her eyes.

“I think,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully, “that all we can do is to try and live our lives so that it will be. Because we can’t turn back time. All we can do is move forward, do all we can.” Steve remembers Peggy’s words, from more than two years past, said to him on the day he got his first glimpse of Bucky in this century, even if he hadn’t known it back then.

She nods, and Steve thinks there is an element of peace in her. “I just have to figure out what to do from now on.”

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks.

“For now, I’m happy here, with what I’m doing. And later, I’d like to see the world, not only when we’re on a mission. Just to see places, meet people, figure out what else I could do. I’ve been working with Abeni and Uzoma, and I’d like to do something like that, help people with their troubles. It’s a whole another kind of thing, and a bit terrifying too.”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re working on the triggers, and we have some methods, and a lot of it is familiar, but it’s also different. It’s so much more intense, and harder, because it’s more personal. Going in his head, changing things. There are so many things that could go wrong.”

Steve squeezes her shoulder, all too familiar with thoughts of everything that could go wrong. He’s been explained that the process to remove the triggers will be tricky, and that there may not be a way to remove only them and nothing else. Not to mention the minuscule error margins. And he’s not doing anything to contribute, all he can do is watch and wait. Right now he can’t tell which is more terrifying, all the potential outcomes or the feeling of powerlessness. Still, he does have faith in her.

“You’ll do fine, I believe in you. I know it’s not easy, but I know you, and I know how strongly you’ve decided. You’ll find a way, and the team is the best there is.”

“So they are,” she agrees, and they fall silent again.

***

Sometimes it almost feels like Steve is living two lives at once. There is the one that’s all about the missions; finding, intercepting and destroying HYDRA, about intelligence and strategies and hopping all over the world with timing sometimes critical to seconds. Then there is his life in Wakanda, one that’s centered on a routine; running, training, spending quiet days reading or sketching, visiting Bucky. Every day is much like any other, and they run into a stream, where dates and times matter less. The distinction is always sharp, even when there are people that belong to both of those lives; Wanda and Sam are with him nearly every day, Nat and Sharon on the phone.

It’s another evening, and Steve makes his way into Bucky’s room. It rained earlier and the windows around the palace are thrown open to let the fresh and fragrant air blow in, but in Bucky’s room he finds the familiar air-conditioned temperature that never varies. The room isn’t sealed, but the conditions are kept as static as possible to make sure the cryostasis machine runs nominally. Steve checks its status as is his habit, and everything is as usual.

It is still disorienting to see Bucky, unchanged ever since he was frozen. Time passes for all of them except Bucky, and Steve pushes the idea away as soon as it comes to his head. He’s thought about it time and time again, and it’s always the same circle of reasoning. Sam had been right, Steve does occasionally resent having to be here, having to deal with this, trying to figure out how to feel about everything that’s happened, how to move on. It feels like Bucky is escaping, even if logically Steve knows it’s only temporary, and that Bucky will have to work through things just the same when he comes out. It will probably be harder for Bucky when others have moved on, aren’t at the same place where he left them.

Steve knows all this, and yet right now it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes he is seething at Bucky, even if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t often think about how long it has been, but now he makes a note on the date and is fairly startled to realize it’s been three and half months already since Bucky went under. During that time they’ve made a headway into taking HYDRA out, the situation with the Accords has evolved into a direction that’s becoming slightly more sustainable. Steve isn’t too hopeful yet that it will be fully resolved any time soon, but steps are being made toward something he genuinely hopes is somewhere in the middle ground. There is a steady progress with the research into Bucky’s conditioning and the triggers.

Despite all of that, it still feels to Steve like nothing has happened, and he knows it’s because he isn’t making any real progress on how to deal with any of his personal experiences. He hasn’t figured out what it means to him that Bucky is in his life again, in a world that’s so different from the one they left behind.

Three and a half months, and he’s gotten nowhere. But it’s more than that, really. Ever since he woke up in that badly faked recovery room, it’s been the same. Things happen, and he acts, chooses to do things, but they are always something to do with the missions, his work. It’s different when it comes to his personal life. He keeps falling into patterns and waiting, he doesn’t even know what for. Sometimes something happens that jolts him onto another track, forces him to change his thinking, rather than him organically moving to another state. The aliens attacking established the group of Avengers around him. Insight meant SHIELD was gone. Bucky being alive meant his whole world turned upside down. Ultron and the Accords shook up his team. Peggy was finally completely lost to him. After each shift he has fallen into another pattern, and again waited for something. It seems that all he can do these days is to wait.

It comes back to him how Sam asked, on their second meeting, what made him happy. How he didn’t know the answer. And he remembers how Peggy in her moments of clarity kept pushing him forward, to make change, to choose a life for himself. It is a thought slowly forming in him now, that he can’t just wait for happiness, he has to grasp for it. He has to act, move forward, which he has done when it comes to work, but not for himself.

He looks at Bucky again, unchanging in his cryogenic sleep. He looks like he’s in peace, at least for now, and who is Steve to grudge him for seeking it, even if it’s like this. Steve’s been waiting for Bucky, he now admits to himself. He’s been waiting perhaps ever since he woke up in the hospital, knowing that the last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him under the surface of the Potomac was a glinting metal hand reaching for him. Now he’s starting to understand that he can’t just wait for Bucky and expect everything to magically work out afterward. It won’t be like that, and it would be unfair to do so. For himself, because it’s not a good way to live just waiting for something unknown. And it would be unfair toward Bucky, because one shouldn’t pin their happiness solely on someone else, it’s too big a burden.

There is also the part both Nat and Sam have brought up, maybe not directly, but one they’ve skirted around. Bucky was and still is his friend, but it’s different from past when up until the train they were inseparable except for when Bucky went to basic and later shipped out, and even that hadn’t been due to choice on Steve’s behalf. Now everything is different, Bucky is different, Steve is different, and it would be foolish to expect everything to be just the same.

In fact, it would be foolish to expect Bucky will want to stay with Steve when he wakes up. Every time recently he hasn’t. He left Steve on the shore of the Potomac, ran in Bucharest, and now went under. Perhaps when he’s out he’ll want to leave again. And if he does, Steve won’t be able to keep him. He can ask Bucky to stay, but no more, and he has to accept that. If Bucky doesn’t want there to be anything between them anymore, then it is his choice.

Even if Bucky stays, they will still have to figure out their relationship, since they haven’t really had time for that yet. There are some things that are familiar, almost easy, and others that catch and grind, there are sharp edges now where they used to fit together.

Before the train Steve never really stopped to think about their relationship, about what they meant to each other. They met as children, and things are easier then, friendships are forged faster to last. They grew up and went through hardship and war, and it was always natural, the next step always obvious, even when Steve didn’t dare to look too much into what exactly they were to each other. Now, even after everything, even if there’s been a break and they don’t quite fit like they used to, not yet anyway, Steve knows that if it’s up to him, he wants to have Bucky in his life. That has never changed ever since they first met, and he doesn’t think it ever will. Everything else will have to be built on that.

While he’s been thinking, he’s been absentmindedly leafing through the two notebooks he’s filled for Bucky so far, flipping back the pages. There are memories among his daily life, and he notices how he keeps going backward in time, farther and farther. Looking at it like this, getting a complete picture of the things he’s written down for Bucky, he’s starting to see a pattern form. He isn’t quite sure yet what it all means, but these kind of things probably aren’t something that can be worked through in one night. More likely they will have to be turned around, pulled apart and put back together again, over time. He’s only starting now, but at least he’s no longer waiting. Maybe this is the first step in moving forward.

***

One afternoon Steve finds Sam sitting at the dining table, leaning on his elbow and zooming in and out of satellite photos. At first he thinks it’s for an operation, but then he realizes what the images depict, and a pang of regret hits him.

There’s a new pot of coffee ready, a mug sitting next to the maker just waiting, and Steve pours out for them both, adds cream for Sam, sugar for himself and brings them to table. By then he’s recovered enough that his voice is neutral when he says, “You’re missing home.”

Sam stares at his screen for another second, and takes a sip from his mug. “Yeah,” he finally admits, and adds, “It’s not really unexpected.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve agrees.

“It’s not just home, it’s, well, everything connected to it, you know? My family, my job, the VA, just the familiar places.”

“Isn’t that what home is, though?” Steve asks, and continues without really thinking, “Do you ever regret this? Do you think now that you should have just stayed away?”

Sam shoots a glare at him, which Steve acknowledges with a wry half-grin, because he actually knows the answer.

“I mean, sometimes, in the middle of the night I ask myself that, and sometimes the answer is yes,” Sam says. “Except it’s not really true, it’s a knee jerk reaction. It’s the tired answer, the part of me that wants to be comfortable, to have it easy. We all have those. But for real, no, I don’t regret this. Despite it being difficult sometimes.”

“I know,” Steve says. “I do. That question was, well, probably my tired moment.”

“More like definitely your tired moment.”

“Like you said, there’s always a part of us that wants things to be easy, and it second guesses things when it’s hard. For me most often it has to do with feeling like I’ve dragged people into something.”

“We all chose this for ourselves, you know.”

“Yeah, and so did everyone else,” Steve says.

“You’re thinking back to the war,” Sam guesses.

“Yeah. Sometimes I regret asking Bucky to be part of my team, even though it was his choice. Then everything else happened. And I could have made him go home, told Phillips I didn’t think he was fine, and that would have been it. But, you know.”

“Not your choice to make,” Sam concludes.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets.”

“Yeah. If only it worked like that.”

They’re silent for a moment, and then Steve laughs a little. “I think the most common fight we had, Bucky and me, was some variation about keeping the other safe, and the other not wanting that. Went both ways, although before the war it had slightly different aspects. All things considered it’s a little ironic.”

“Because you asked him in your team back them? Or with the whole mess that came with the Accords?”

“I guess all of it. I’m starting to think that sometimes you just have to let other people do what they need to do, even if it is dangerous. Sometimes it’s that important.”

“As long as you can tell when it is important and when it’s just stupid.”

“That’s the sixty four dollar question, isn’t it?”

Sam shakes his head and laughs. “I know you know it’s sixty four thousand dollar question now. No wonder some people still think you’re completely stuck to past.”

“It often helps being underestimated,” Steve agrees easily. The moment of levity has lightened them both up, but Sam still looks a little apprehensive at his next question.

“So we’ve established, I’m missing home, but do you?”

“It’s,” Steve pauses for a moment to think, “tricky, I guess. I mean, what even is home? I don’t think I really have a place like that here. Even now, if I think of home I think of Brooklyn, but not like it’s now. Even though I still think it’s the closest, even if I’ve never really lived there, after I woke up. And the other things —”

“The ones that make a home and have nothing to do with any particular place?”

“Yeah, well. The job isn’t really fixed anywhere. And most of the people I care about are fugitives same as me, so. You guys are just as much in the wind as I am. It’s not quite the same for me, because I don’t have such ties here as you do.”

“Suppose so,” Sam agrees. “Do you still miss it? Back then?”

“Well, sort of, but it’s starting to be more like being nostalgic about your childhood I guess, because what I’m missing isn’t there anymore. I can’t go back, and quite honestly, I don’t think I would want to, either. Not anymore. What I do miss is what I was, I guess. I mean, here, even all of you who know me, only know me like this. After the serum, after the war. The threads connecting me to the time before are getting pretty thin,” Steve concludes, smiling at Sam. Or trying anyway, he suspects it’s only a passable approximation of a smile.

Sam bumps him on the elbow, “Well, maybe in time those get stronger.”

“Hopefully. And hopefully in time we all can stop being in the wind and you can go home.”

“God, I really hope so,” Sam sighs. “What about you? Do you ever think of quitting, settling down?”

“You asked me that when we first met,” Steve reminds Sam.

“I know. But it’s been a long time since then, everything is different. And I know it’s wearing you down.”

Steve thinks for a moment.

“I suppose, on one hand yes, I’ve thought about it. And maybe in a different situation I might. Probably should have, back when I was with SHIELD. But no, I don’t want to quit, or need to.”

“If you’re sure,” Sam says, sounding a bit skeptical, probably mostly to draw Steve out.

“The fighting and going after HYDRA, that’s not a problem,” Steve explains. “It’s everything else, the peripheral things. Before with Captain America, there was the discord between what it meant to me and what people saw in it. So it’s easier now. And besides, this is something I can do, something I care about. It’s not draining me like the missions with SHIELD where I never could be sure it was really something I agreed completely with.”

“Okay,” Sam acknowledges. “And you know it’s okay to change your mind too.”

“I know, but I don’t think I will. There’s always a part of me that will want to wade into battle, better to direct it so it’ll do something good.”

***

Steve leafs the red notebook with the star on the cover absentmindedly, leaning to the wall in Bucky’s room while the medical and scientific team bustles around Bucky. They are doing the regular maintenance on the cryostasis machine and at the same time discuss their progress and findings. Steve tries to be present at these meetings whenever he can, which means he got up with only three hours of sleep after returning from a grueling week long pursuit of HYDRA members in Chile, Peru and Bolivia. They didn’t get nearly as much results as he wished, but it is bound to happen every once in a while. Their success rate still is wildly above that of any other intelligence organization.

His Russian has improved a lot in the last months, he learned first bits during the war, got a bit more from Nat, and has made a more conscious effort since everything that happened in Siberia. The book focuses on the brainwashing process, contains only the most necessary key information, but it’s enough. There are descriptions of the conditioning, the choice of the words, and how all ten are necessary for most stable control.

Even with the trigger sequence comes a story of how HYDRA isn’t and wasn’t as stable as it could have been. Schmidt was always proud of the idea of many heads as a method for survival, but it’s not surprising that the heads generally haven’t been too trusting of each other, or that they actively sabotage each other.

In the file Steve got from Nat, there was a note about how the Winter Soldier always was most effective with the Russian handlers, and less so after he was moved to America. Some had thought it was because the brainwashing had started to deteriorate, or that the regular memory erasures were slowly causing brain damage, but the truth is that the Americans never had the complete trigger sequence. The book had stayed with the Russians, and they’d revealed only seven out of the ten words, omitting the numerals. It worked well enough, certainly made Bucky cooperate, but it wasn’t as stable.

Bucky had been able to explain this to the team, which has helped them determine that the triggering is fluid instead of rigid, and probably can be altered relatively easily. On the other hand getting everything out of Bucky’s head will be more difficult, since they will need to remove the whole main sequence at least, possibly a good part of the minor patterns as well, even if those were built on the foundation of the base conditioning. It won’t be enough to just break the sequence by rerouting the neural paths to make it inoperable.

Later, just to Steve, Bucky had almost offhand commented that while it was true that he was generally less stable and receptive with the Americans, Pierce had still been most effective and most comfortable with him out of any of his handlers. There’d been a twist to Bucky’s face when he’d said Pierce’s name, gone in an instant, but it had made Steve impulsively wish Pierce hadn’t been quite as dead as he was, if only so that Steve could get his hands on him. He’d managed approximately neutral voice when he’d asked if Bucky knew why, although Bucky definitely had seen through it, judging by the hint of sardonic amusement. The answer, “It definitely wasn’t all those speeches he tended to give,” was said with such a finality that Steve had backed away and changed the topic.

Steve reads again the trigger sequence before he has to put the book away. He can’t help but see how the words are tied to aspects of Bucky’s life, his mind, and now Steve wonders if those memories will be forever tainted with this, or if they even will have to be taken away. Some of them aren’t that important, and if the things symbolized by the freight car will be gone, Bucky might not see it as a big loss. But there are others. What will happen if Bucky will have to give up everything that’s tangled in homecoming? How big a part of Bucky will be gone if all of those memories are lost? Would they ever come back?

It’s still too early to say, especially since the treatment method isn’t constructed yet, and Steve resolves to be ready for anything, to cross the bridge when they come to it. And in any case, none of it will change the fact that Bucky is his friend, and Steve is going to give him whatever support he needs.

He’s brought back from his thoughts by a snatch of discussion Abeni and Uzoma are having next to Bucky’s chamber. Abeni is showing images of Bucky’s brain on a transparent screen, scribbling notes on her tablet with a stylus she sticks into her braid while she needs her hand free. Uzoma is frowning, and seeing it Steve moves closer to listen.

“That should work, in theory, but we are leaning very heavily on his enhanced healing ability. And still, I think it would take a long time, if we do it like this,” Uzoma says.

“True,” Abeni agrees. “We will refine the method, so it’s more precise and there’s less need for healing, but ideally we still might need to find a way to accelerate it.”

“Well, as you know we have some of those, but we need to test them to see how they function with the serum,” Uzoma says, and turns to Steve. “Would you be kind enough to help us on that? It’ll be very safe,” he reassures.

“Of course,” Steve agrees. It’s a relief actually, to be able to do something for Bucky and not just wait. He also has an additional idea. “Are you familiar with the work of Helen Cho? She can accelerate healing with her cradle, it might be another avenue to explore. I know her, although I’m not sure how receptive she would be to hear from me now.”

“I’ve met her actually,” Abeni says. “I’ve attended some conferences, all very discreetly, and have talked to her. We can contact her together and see if she’s willing to help us. And if not, we’ll find another way.”

“I know,” Steve says.

 

* * *

 

##### Backward – The Impostor

The process was the same as usual. Awakening. The receding cold. Returning consciousness. Images that made no sense, but that he clung to anyway. He was dragged into the chair before mobility returned, pushed against the cold metal. There was a name at the tip of his tongue, too stiff to form words. He wasn’t sure whose name it was, just that it was important. The restraints, the needles, the mouth guard. The rig over head, the people around him working efficiently.

Stabs of electricity through his brain. The images flickering and disappearing. The pain, more than could be silently borne. The mind scrubbed clear.

The words.

(One two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

Longing.

Rusted.

Seventeen.

Daybreak.

Furnace.

Nine.

Benign.

Homecoming.

One.

Freight car.

No restraints. No pain. No memory. Only the strict obeisance.

“Good morning, Soldier.”

There was a tasking, as was the set procedure. He felt calm.

It was a long trip to an unfamiliar city. He took the details in as he followed his handler. They hadn’t provided him with any particulars this time, and his order was to follow, nothing else yet. They hadn’t even told him where they were, but there was no need. He filed away the Polish language, took in the signs above the stores. It was the first time he’d come to Gdansk.

Was it the first time?

There was a man’s voice somewhere to his left, invisible, speaking in excited French, explaining something about the city layout. The rifle in his hands was solid and familiar. Wide shoulders clad in blue at the peripheral vision. He blinked and the images disappeared, the sensory memory of the gun just that. It was all irrelevant to his task, to be ignored.

They came to a building, nondescript, in an area of the city that he recognized as such where no one expected anything to happen, ever, which meant it was a good place to hide. He memorized the layout of the streets, looked for good hiding places up high. Inside there were four men, trained and alert although trying to not appear to be so. Faked nonchalance. Civilian suits, good quality. The cut and accessories obviously American. A rolled up newspaper under an arm, with the year 1970 on the cover.

Yet another room, a makeshift medical facility this time. Bright lights, table, tools that made his blood run cold. Several guards and technicians, no threat. A small man with round eyeglasses. Zola, the name surfaced from somewhere. He had an urge to snarl at the man, but didn’t. It would have meant disciplining. He knew the rules, and avoided being punished.

Leaning to the wall was another man, younger. Blond hair, wide shoulders, suit that fit perfectly. Familiar. Another image superimposed over the man, blond hair, blue eyes, white star. He blinked, and only the man in the room was left, no echoes from his head. And the man was familiar. Not like Zola, not like his handlers. As if something that he’d been missing was suddenly emerging. An empty space inside him yearning to be filled again.

He remembered a face; younger, thinner, blond hair, blue eyes. The same face.

Was it the same face?

Someone poked him on the side, hard. He’d been ignoring the instructions to strip and to lie down on the table for too long. Everything not obeyed promptly was for too long. A line of irritation grew between Zola’s brows.

Naked on the table, his pulse was rising. Restraints, needles, the usual procedure. Scalpels and watchmaker’s tools laid out next to him. This was something he knew intimately. There would be pain, because pain was necessary, the only way for him to be ready for his missions. The missions that were more important than anything.

He didn’t pull against the restraints when Zola cut into his side.

The blond man talked to his handlers, seemingly curious about the procedures. It was a discussion he probably wasn’t meant to hear, low voices at the other end of the room, he presumably distracted by pain. The man was informed that Zola was responsible for the physical enhancement and the construction of the arm, and that his Russian handlers took care of the conditioning of his mind. They addressed the man as Agent Pierce, and he filed the name away, as he did with everything.

Zola was closing a cut at his side when Pierce came over, standing next to the table. There was a flash, a man in brown leather, warm hands breaking the restraints.

No. Wrong. The restraints were not to be broken. He blinked and the only thing left was the cold. Pierce stood by the table, peering at the closed wound at his side. Assessing. Then Pierce looked right at him.

“What do they call you?”

The voice was momentarily wrong, the second before it amalgamated with the face. It came from Pierces mouth, there was no reason to think it was the wrong voice. He noted the pitch and speech patterns, filed them away with Pierce’s facial movements.

He didn’t get a chance to reply before his handler said, his Russian accent suddenly prominent, “The Soldier has no name.”

A flicker of dark amusement in Zola’s eyes.

“I didn’t ask for a name,” Pierce said, mild but full of authority. “Well, Soldier. I trust you will be an asset to HYDRA for many years to come.”

Pierce walked away, and he lay on the table while his arm was fitted with new parts.

It was outside protocol to ask for anyone to stay.

He couldn’t remember wanting anyone to stay.

***

They woke him up.

And they woke him up.

His mind got scrubbed, the missions taken away to make space for new ones. Some things he remembered, others not.

Sometimes, when they woke him up and before he was in the chair, during those moments when he was barely conscious, unable to move while still recovering from cryostasis, he saw things. He didn’t think they were about missions.

There was an outline of a man, faint and shifting, making it hard for him to pin down size or shape. There was a hint of jawline, cheekbones, blue eyes. Always the same shimmering blond hair. Sometimes he almost remembered a name, but it got taken away before it was fully formed in his head.

It was 1974, and he got an upgrade to his arm. It was strong and fast, responsive. Heavy.

He’d never before seen either the doctor or the engineer working on it.

Zola didn’t come back, and there was a sense of something unnameable over the fact that the man’s cold and clammy hands would never touch him again.

The American came back, and he was still familiar. Still not. It was impossible to not track him whenever he was within the field of vision. Pierce, the name came back. It should have echoed in his head, he thought, but it didn’t.

The next time they woke him up, he was in a new place, large and cold, walls of carved gray stone. Air damp and stuffy, and he could feel the weight of the earth above him.

It took a long time to make it to the starting point of his mission from the middle of the wasteland, but he was nothing if not patient.

They woke him up.

And they woke him up.

The words now more familiar than anything he knew, each one flowing into the next, seamless and impenetrable.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

He went on the mission.

He was perfectly within the specified parameters.

There were complications, but he made the kill.

It all went wrong. He still made the kill, even when he couldn’t breathe properly because his lungs were burned by acid.

He healed.

They put him back under.

They woke him up.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

There was another mission. And yet another.

They put him back under.

***

They woke him up and it was a different place. Cramped, secure. Safety deposit boxes in the walls. A bank vault.

Different people too. Americans, wearing dark uniforms with a stylized eagle on the sleeve.

But there was a chair, and the command words, even if they were read from a file and not a red notebook.

He knew what was going to happen.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

Longing.

Rusted.

(three)

Daybreak.

Furnace.

(six)

Benign.

Homecoming.

(nine)

Freight car.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

It wasn’t the same.

It was enough.

There was a mission, and there was the ice.

They woke him up, and he was back in the cave with walls of gray stone.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

Full parameters.

There was testing and checkups. As usual, they spoke of him as if he wasn’t listening. He caught the words insurance policy. _The Americans suspected nothing. If needed, we’ll have control over theirs._ He had an idea of what that meant.

***

They woke him up under heavy gray stone.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

They woke him up in the cramped bank vault.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

It was enough, until it wasn’t.

There was a dead technician, and a voice that allowed no resistance.

“Start over.”

The lightning in his brain, and through the buzz the words, spoken by the voice full of authority.

“Longing.

Rusted.”

Spoken by the man with golden hair, familiar face.

“Daybreak.

Furnace.”

The name came back. Pierce. It settled familiar against his sternum, hurting.

“Benign.

Homecoming.”

There was nothing in him but the will to obey.

“Freight car.”

(one two four five seven eight ten)

It was enough. He completed the mission perfectly within parameters.

After debrief came the maintenance. Pierce stood nearby, older now than the first time in Poland, wearing a more expensive suit. Stance still relaxed, commanding as always. The technicians spoke to Pierce, and he listened. _Conditioning breaking apart. More volatility to be expected. Missions must be supervised._ Pierce walking right to him, unconcerned unlike everyone else in the room. No need for a weapon between them.

“Guess you still respond to authority.”

He said nothing. No response was expected.

If they had asked, he would have told the reason. He would have told they only had seven words when ten was the full procedure.

They didn’t ask. They never even considered it.

***

They woke him up.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

The familiar gray stone, high ceiling. Everything else was different. Some of the people he knew, in the instinctive way that he had with the people he’d met, but many were new.

The man reading the words was new.

It was hard to say, with the erasures and the ice, but he thought they kept him away from the ice more. Everything was highly regulated as always; food, water, sleep, training. Still, there were empty hours now, time when he just waited, no purpose given.

Sometimes he went on missions, sometimes he trained other soldiers, strong and ruthless, but no match for him. He knew the handlers and commanders watched on the sidelines, but not for his performance. For the others’.

He was put back into the ice, and it was almost a relief. If there were to be empty hours, he rather not know of them. He didn’t like the flashes in his brain, the images and sensory reactions he couldn’t name.

They woke him up.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

The mission was simple, the parameters clear. Acquire the case, check the contents, leave no witnesses. Bring the case back in. Simple.

It was all but simple.

When he gave the mission report afterward, he laid out every detail, everything he’d done. The pilfered tape from the camera nearby confirmed his words. He’d caused the car to crash, made sure the man and woman were dead, taken the case. He’d made sure there was no way to trace it back to them.

It all went as instructed, all according to the plan and the mission parameters.

What he left out of the report was what was happening inside his head, because they didn’t care. It was specifically his training to avoid any and every bit of internal interference to missions. The needs of his body were to be taken care of, as negligence would result into poor performance. Everything else was to be ignored.

Usually he could summon a calm, a laser tight concentration that prevented distraction. It was distance, and this time he couldn’t find it. It was all right on his skin.

The man had called him by a name, even if he didn’t have one. Barnes. Rank, Sergeant. It meant nothing to him.

He didn’t want to look at the blue liquid in the clear bags. The color made him feel nauseous, and he couldn’t just push it away as he should have.

He stood there, giving his report, waiting for orders. It was more and more difficult every second to try and ignore the noise in his head, to keep his face impassive, but he did. It was the only thing he could do.

They pushed him into the cryostasis chamber, and all he could think was that the noise was about to be taken away. Last thought he had was to cling onto the name. Barnes. It didn’t mean anything to him, but maybe it meant something in the world.

They woke him up, and took the name away, took away the knowledge that he’d even had it.

(one two three four five six seven eight nine ten)

***

There were others like him, and not like him at all. They were less capable of focus, more volatile. For some reason their training hadn’t been fully implemented, they had no words and he couldn’t understand why. What was so different between him and them, why would they be allowed to have imperfect functions? Because surely that was it, when they couldn’t be trusted to not attack their own handlers.

He trained them, adjusting the level of his fighting as ordered. He kept an eye on every one of them, cataloged their strengths and weaknesses, looked for their tells. He made sure to not give out any of his own.

They were left alone in the cage with the woman, all the handlers leaving the room. It was a test, but he didn’t know what kind.

Her movements were fluid, her gaze direct and assessing when she circled around him. He kept still, only watched her but didn’t react otherwise, not even when she came to stand right in front of him.

Her grin was sharp and fast.

“I’m not like you. I chose this. I don’t need to be ripped apart to act.”

He put his hand on her sternum and pushed hard when she made to grab his head. She laughed and licked her lips.

“Suit yourself then. Only one time offer.”

She moved away to stand at the other end of the cage and became as impassive as he was. It was all an act, to see what he would do, and he didn’t know if he’d failed the test or succeeded.

He did know she had nothing to offer that he wanted.

He was put under after the cage, no indication whether he’d failed. No punishment would indicate a success, but he knew that sometimes punishment came long time after. He didn’t care one way or another.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

The bank vault. Americans. A dozen high powered rifles aimed at him. No wavering hands.

If he made a wrong move he’d be dead.

“Ready to comply.”

There was shuffling, people moving out of the way, and a man, older again but still strong and authoritative, came to stand right in front of him. No fear. Blond hair, fine suit. The name came back. Pierce.

“Good to see our eastern colleagues haven’t completely erased your usefulness. There is much for you to do still, when we make the world better.”

***

They woke him up and it was the bank vault.

The next time it was an underground bunker, walls of concrete instead of natural rock.

Then some kind of a research facility.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

It was enough. Usually.

They still didn’t think to ask him why the conditioning didn’t fully work. By now he knew the internal power struggle of HYDRA had shifted things around, and that the Russians had lost a lot of the influence they used to have.

His new handlers sometimes wondered where the Russian base for the Winter Soldier project was. They never asked him. He didn’t volunteer the information.

He was sent to kill his previous handler.

The mission was carried out within parameters.

They woke him up again and again, and he could see the time passing too fast. Clothing changed. Technology evolved. People around him got older.

He was always the same.

The only difference was that the incomplete procedure meant everything underlying came to surface more often. It meant he lashed out, reacted without thinking.

It meant punishments.

It meant the lightning in his head.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

Pierce got old along with everyone else. He was still the only one who didn’t feel the need to hide behind a weapon.

The technology evolved, and they started providing him with a mask anytime he went out to prevent his face from ending up photographed. At nighttime he was allowed to take the goggles off for optimal vision.

The missions changed; they were more about stealth, often distance kills, asking for patience and skill. He lacked neither one. He could lie motionless for days and wait for his target to appear.

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

The mission parameters were simple, equipment and target information provided. No one else could do it.

He waited in his sniper’s nest, with only minimal amount of food and water, enough to keep him sharp. He didn’t sleep.

On the third day there was warmth at the small of his back, as if someone had laid their hand there. Except there was no one but him. A shape in his scope, clad in blue, silver and red flashing in the sun. Golden head that made him think of Pierce. Except it was wrong. He blinked and the shape was gone.

He fished out the pills he’d been given for when he started to get tired. He looked at his watch, marking the time, and ate one of the pills. Another six hours of alertness.

The target appeared in just under three hours.

He didn’t miss the shot.

***

Even with the memory erasures, he knew there was a new kind of equilibrium. He was always based in America, his missions were no longer infiltration or training, they were solely killing.

There was a team supporting him, and also ready to subdue him if he diverted from the mission. It happened only once. After a kill he didn’t return to the base but wandered away. He was found three days later, walking on the Brooklyn Bridge. He’d discarded his mask and weapons, and found a long coat to cover his tactical gear. He didn’t remember where it had come from. He didn’t resist capture.

Unlike it had been with the Russians, there were always guns pointed at him when maintenance was performed. He was more volatile, more prone to lash out due to confusion or pain. When his head was clear, he knew why, but he didn’t tell anyone that the conditioning sequence was imperfect. No one asked.

They put him to ice, they woke him up, and he knew time still passed too fast. Every face he knew got older.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

There was a mission to Belgrade. A man was to die, and information was to be extracted. It was a joint operation with something called the Red Room. There was a spark of recognition at the name, but no context.

She was the most dangerous person he’d met. It was an instinct that told him that. She didn’t have the kind of influence as Pierce, nor the strength like the five soldiers in Siberia. Instead, she could bend the world to her will.

With her fiery red hair and balletic grace it was hard to not look at her.

She was called Natalia.

He didn’t have a name, but he wondered for the first time if he should have.

She got the information, he pulled a trigger and a man was dead.

He went back under.

***

They woke him up again and again; to kill, to make people disappear.

He always went back under, always woke up knowing time had passed without carrying him with it.

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

The voice speaking the words was familiar, and he found himself speaking without the usual hesitation.

“Ready to comply.”

The scraping of the chair on the concrete floor was loud, an ache at the back of his head. Pierce sat in front of him, still clad in an expensive suit, still older. Still with the same kind of speeches, about purpose and duty and change.

He didn’t listen, just waited for his orders.

As Pierce was leaving and he was put back into the chair, he heard an order but not for him.

“Take Carter off the list. She’s retired, she can’t cause us trouble anymore.”

The name had a faint echo, as if he should have known it, but there was nothing, not even flashes.

The lightning took everything away, and he was put back to ice.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

As they arrived to the rendezvous point with the other team, he caught a glimpse of red hair, and knew three things.

He wouldn’t need to compensate for the potential incompetence of his partner.

She was the most dangerous person he’d ever met.

Her name was Natalia.

He couldn’t remember why he knew these things. There was a question in her eyes, but she didn’t ask. She was better and more careful than that.

Everything went perfectly, as he’d known it would. When they parted ways, he felt like he should have said goodbye to her. He didn’t. It was against protocol to form any personal relationships.

There was something like reluctance, when he was put back into the ice.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

There was a kill mission, solitary, clear target. To be killed while traveling, escort expected to be highly capable. Collateral damage accepted, the kill absolutely essential.

The car came around the corner, fast but not unusually so. Nothing to attract attention. He squeezed the trigger, hit the tire. This was not supposed to be a killshot. The car went over the edge, and he waited to see who’d emerge. A woman with red hair, pulling out the target, putting herself between him and the shooter.

Capable. Dangerous. Familiar?

He shifted the aim, squeezed the trigger. Instead of her head, the bullet went through her torso and hit the target. Both went down.

He packed his gear and walked away.

He knew the target had been dead before he hit the ground.

He knew she would survive.

He returned to the extraction point and from there back to the vault, and finally the ice. No one asked why he hadn’t just killed her as well. They knew it hadn’t been ordered.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

It wasn’t a kill mission. Not at first anyway.

He was given an address, and an order to be on standby, far enough that the protective detail wouldn’t find him. They were easy to avoid, since he had their mission plan.

The apartment was tricky to reach, well protected. Impossible for an ordinary sniper, even a very good one, to find a shot.

There was nothing ordinary about him.

He set his rifle up, made sure he was sufficiently camouflaged, and settled down to wait. The apartment was empty.

“In position. Waiting for the order.”

The lights came on, and he saw a shape move inside. The curtains partly shielded the target from view, but he saw enough. A man, big, wide shoulders. Blue shirt. He could have made the kill right then, but the mission wasn’t live yet. He was on standby. He waited.

In the morning the light came back on early, at 0547. The target stepped at the window, pulled the curtain aside to look outside. A stupid move for someone with a target on their back.

Young. Blond hair, the line of jaw familiar.

A warmth of a hand at the small of his back. A voice whispering, _When you’re ready._

His hand came off the trigger without him meaning it to.

A crackle at his radio.

“Abort mission.”

The mask on his face felt suffocating as it never had been before.

The oblivion of the ice was welcome.

***

They woke him up.

(one two four five seven eight ten)

Pierce, same as ever, but somehow suddenly not right, standing in front of him.

A target; photo and a name. Nick Fury.

***

(It would take him years to piece back things together enough, but then he wouldn’t be able to miss why Pierce had never needed to fear him, and why their plan was always built on a quicksand.)

 

* * *

 

##### Forward – The Team

It comes out of nowhere one morning. There’s nothing unusual, no messages on his phone when he wakes up, he’s slept well, and gets up at the usual time. It’s only when Steve walks into Bucky’s room, the same as he does every morning he’s in Wakanda, that it hits him like a wall. Nothing is different in the room from the day before, and that is the problem. The sadness and anger are like a wave drowning Steve, and he nearly stumbles out again. He doesn’t want to stay in the room, not when he’s feeling like this. He doesn’t want the space colored with it.

For a moment he leans to the wall next to the door, and he’s pathetically glad no one walks past while he’s trying to regain his composure. He doesn’t do such a good job of it, but in a few minutes he’s at least able to walk without looking like he’s about to fall, and he heads out. He’s dressed for a run, as he often is when he checks on Bucky for the first time of the day. The visits in the morning are usually shorter, around ten minutes, and he doesn’t do much, just stays in the room. In the evenings he stays longer, and writes in his journal or sketches or reads a book. Just spends some quiet time in there.

Steve takes off as soon as he’s outside, faster than he usually does. In Washington even his regular runs, where he wasn’t particularly pushing, still raised attention, since he was running faster than a human being should be able to on a distance longer than a few dozen yards. Now he’s running faster than a human being should be able to, period. And he can keep it up.

After two hours he stops in the garden under the big Marula tree, where the shade keeps most of the sun’s beating heat away. His lungs are heaving in a way that rarely happens these days, usually only in a battle that lasts some significant time. The burn is familiar though, it happened all too often back before he got the serum. Then he didn’t need much exercise at all before it felt like he was about to cough out his lungs.

Steve sits against the tree trunk, resting his forearms on his knees and forces himself to draw deep and even breaths, counting the seconds both in and out. It’s something he was taught to do by his mother when he was still a child, as a way to control his breathing when he had asthma attacks. Later he used it after tense situations in the war, when they’d come all too close to dying. He hadn’t been able to do it at all after Bucky fell, and he’d felt short of breath until the plane was going down, the icy waste filling his field of vision. Then he’d been able to draw a full breath, and the last thing he remembers thinking was guilt over the relief. When he woke up in the future he again felt like his lungs were constricted all too often, and regularly ended up sitting on the floor against the wall in his apartment, counting his breaths, more often than he likes to think. It had gotten easier as time went by, certainly after DC when he’d gained purpose again, one that lasted for longer than the time it took to solve whichever current crisis was afoot.

Now he’s back to counting his breathing, but not because of pain or fear. He’s counting his breaths and willing the anger to subside, but it’s not really helping. When he was running he could keep it at bay, could concentrate on his pounding feet and the strain on his muscles, but he can’t run forever. He doesn’t want to either; it feels too much like running away, which is something he’s never been willing to do.

Sam has warned Steve about the anger, has told him it is natural and that there is nothing wrong with it. Steve knows it’s true, and isn’t really surprised that he is angry now. He knows it’s been simmering under the surface of his mind, and for some reason it just broke through this morning.

It’s directed at the world in general, but also at Bucky, because going under was his choice. Steve isn’t surprised it happens, but he tries to push it away all the same, because more than anything, he doesn’t want to be angry at Bucky. What happened to him was in no way Bucky’s fault, and he has the right to do whatever he needs to deal with it, even if it is to escape the world for a while.

Steve gets it, he truly does. The weight of carrying the potential to lose it and hurt people besides everything else Bucky has to deal with just for himself, it is hell of a lot, possibly too much. It’s probably why Bucky chose to go under until the one part that other people have to solve is done with, and only then he will try to deal with the rest of it. It is his choice, and Steve would never take it away. It doesn’t change the fact that it also makes him miserable, and he learned long time ago to direct misery into anger. Now it’s much too late to change those patterns.

The anger is just the surface, because underneath there is sadness, a whole ocean of it, and Steve doesn’t know if it’ll ever go away. There isn’t much he can do besides concentrate on other things, and maybe some day the things he doesn’t even dare to truly hope for, even when a group of brilliant and dedicated scientists are working on them, become reality. Maybe then the sadness will lessen, even if it’ll probably never go away. For that he’d have to be able to change the past.

Sometimes on difficult days it’s all he can think of, how everything just seems unfair. Even when he’s thinking about it, it sounds petulant and childish in his head, but it’s still his feeling. It feels like he keeps losing Bucky over and over again, and nowadays he doesn’t know anymore whether it’ll ever stop. He keeps coming back to the moment on the quinjet in Siberia, when they were getting ready to go after Zemo and whatever else was waiting for them. For a minute it was easy, telling stories and ribbing each other like the old times, and it made Steve drop the guards around his heart, the walls he’d erected to keep it safe. With the walls gone had also come doubt, the realization that even if it was perfect right then, it might not last. History told him that it most likely wouldn’t. It reminded that he was likely to lose Bucky again, sooner or later, and that turned the moment bitter.

Steve knows exactly how hard he fought Tony there under the mountain. He knows that even though he started by trying to delay Tony, attacked his suit instead of the man, there really was no limit where he would have taken it if he’d had to. He’s grateful it ended where it did, that all three of them walked out of there, but he knows exactly how far he would have been willing to go. He isn’t at all proud of it, but he knows it’s true.

They walked out together, but it hadn’t helped Steve in avoiding losing Bucky again, because that’s how it feels now that he’s forced to live his life and Bucky is suspended in time. It won’t be the same when Bucky wakes up, can’t be, and they will have to try and find each other again.

Even then Steve has no guarantees that he won’t lose Bucky once more. He can do everything in his power to prevent other people from taking Bucky, but it might not be enough. He knows Bucky might decide to leave anyway, and if he does then there’s nothing Steve can do to stop him. He wouldn’t try to.

It’s resignation he finds in that thought, and the anger ebbs. It’s back under the surface once more, and all that’s left is the sadness when Steve hauls himself to his feet and heads back inside. All he can do is take another step, act on those things he has power over. There’s new intelligence on HYDRA, he knows, and he can do something about that.

***

They’re having a dinner with T’Challa and Shuri, just the five of them in a very informal setting. And yet, it’s still in a palace, with people to fulfill every request before they’re even worded, food appearing and empty dishes disappearing, glasses always full. It catches in Steve’s head, the contrast to what he got used to while growing up, even after years of knowing Tony. Here he is, having a dinner with a king of a nation and his sister, with a soldier specialized in saving people by using experimental wing technology, and a young woman who can do pretty much whatever she can think of.

Here he is, hale and hearty long after he should have been dead, the blue serum coursing through his veins and pushing him forward, making his heart beat. He’s not getting older, doesn’t physically feel any different from how he was right after he came out of the pod. Inside his head he feels as if he’s lived as many years as it has been since his birth for real.

He also knows he might live many times longer than that, something no one mentioned to him when he was being prepped for the procedure. Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been told, or if it had given him second thoughts. He’d already by then signed his life away, agreed to whatever the Army wanted to do with him.

He’s aware that if things had been different, if he’d survived the war and gotten back home, he might have married Peggy. He knows they would have been happy, and he still would have been young, looked just as he does now, when he carried her coffin. It’s a thought that he pushes away as soon as it surfaces, but it’s always there, the knowledge that very few things in this world will last as long as he will unless he dies in combat. So far that hasn’t taken either.

Steve shakes his head, trying to get a hold of the conversation again after being lost in his thought for a moment. Shuri has just launched into a story from their childhood, and Sam and Wanda hang on to every word, which is probably a good idea, since T’Challa looks a bit chagrined, as if it’s going to be something embarrassing. It is, but only a little, in a sweet way, and after it Sam offers a story of how he first tried his wings and ended up flat on his stomach after a flight of about six feet. Steve takes a sip from his glass that’s still full, as if they haven’t sat there for more than an hour already, and focuses on the now.

They take their time, because it’s not often that they can have meals together, with T’Challa especially busy ruling the country. It’s nearing midnight when they finally part ways and head back to their own quarters. Steve doesn’t feel like going to sleep, and instead settles into a chair on the balcony, looking over the garden lit by hundreds of tiny lamps.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when he hears shuffling and Sam drops into the chair next to him. He’s got a glass of water in his hand.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asks.

“Look who’s talking. I just came to get something to drink and saw you here,” Sam says, and after a pause adds, “So what’s on your mind? The usual?”

Steve knows what, or more precisely who, Sam means by usual, and huffs.

“Always,” he admits, because it’s not like it isn’t true. “Right now though, it’s just, everything is so different, you know. And I don’t mean just here, in Wakanda.”

“But the general here,” Sam says, understanding.

“Yeah. Sometimes it just hits me. And especially with thing like here, where everything just happens, food is on the table without having to think about it, it’s warm, all the people. It’s all just a whole another world compared to how it was for us.”

“Yeah, I’ve read you had to stretch to make ends meet back then.”

“You know, I’ve read the books too, and while it’s all basically true, you kind of need the context to understand it. I mean, you read we were poor but at the same time I went to art school for a year, so it can’t have been _that_ bad, right?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Sam agrees.

“Except it varied, a lot. Take 1934 for example, the winter was really cold. We were struggling to make ends meet, and it’s just this negative cycle you know. With money tight there wasn’t enough heat, not enough heat meant I was more prone to getting sick. Same with not enough food, again. And if I was sick that meant more drain for money and so on.”

Steve pauses, staring into the distance. It’s still difficult to remember, and even more difficult to not blame himself, when he knows that if he’d been healthier, his mother might not have had to work quite so hard, and might have been stronger, strong enough to not contract the TB. Of course, if he’d been healthier the army might not have denied him enlistment. He might not have become Captain America. Next to him Sam doesn’t talk, just waits.

“That winter I had scarlet fever and pneumonia, probably came closest to dying I ever did, up until the procedure with the serum. I don’t even know, I probably would have died had my mom not been a nurse and known her stuff, and for Bucky just generally helping us.”

“Jesus,” Sam sighs. “It wasn’t the easiest with our family either, but that’s something else. But what did you mean, closest to dying until the serum procedure?”

“Well, they usually kind of gloss over it in the books. I mean, it was an experimental procedure, so there were huge risks.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense. But I get why they gloss over that, all went well so it doesn’t matter.”

“Right. But when I was in there, when the machine came on, that was when I knew. It was going to work or I was going to die, there literally was no in-between. I could feel my heart basically tearing itself apart. Up until it didn’t.”

Steve doesn’t mention the thought he’d latched on to when it was happening, how the only thing he could think of was how Bucky had told him not to do anything stupid, and that he had to make it through just so he wouldn’t go against the warning.

“Jesus,” Sam says again, and then looks at Steve for a moment. “Have you ever told anyone that?”

“No. I mean, right after it Dr. Erskine was shot, so they didn’t really have any normal post procedure checkups. They took about a million blood samples to try and recreate the serum but that was it. And later, I guess it never really came up.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to something like that. No, wait, scratch that. Actually, I can believe, that’s just like you.”

“Yeah, guess so. I had to do it, since I had the chance. And you know, if it hadn’t happened, if I’d just stayed home, I don’t know. I think it’s likely I wouldn’t have made it until the end of the year, honestly. It would have just eaten me up, not being able to go. Something would have come up, illness or a street fight or something.”

“Steve, that’s —” Sam starts and Steve has to choke back a laugh.

“You’re going to say it’s messed up. I know. I _know._ Still true.”

“You need about twenty years of therapy, I think,” Sam says, and seems to decide to drop it.

They’re quiet for a while before Steve says, “I never expected to live beyond thirty. My heart wouldn’t have taken it, it would have just given in at some point. I’d already started feeling the strain. And now, here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are,” Sam agrees. “Tell me though, how did the art school happen then?”

“Bucky. We lived together by then, and he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. And it kind of made sense; if I had schooling, I could take commissions and earn money that way. Easier than most jobs for my health, when I would work from home at least part time.” Steve thinks back for a moment and drops it. “Tell me something about your childhood, I don’t care what, just something.”

Sam thinks for a moment, “Did I ever tell you about the time we went on an expedition and got lost in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Steve says no, and Sam launches into a story that soon has Steve laughing out loud.

***

Steve learned early on during his stint with SSR that the most crucial part of an operation nearly always is the analysis of the intelligence. It’s not enough to have the data, you have to know what it means, have to decide what’s relevant and what’s irrelevant knowing that being wrong could cost countless lives. During the war SSR had a lot of personnel for just that, but he had himself too spent hours and hours sifting through papers, trying to find anything relevant. They’d made a good team, him, Bucky and Peggy, when there was need to get through stacks of data and all eyes were needed. The communication between the three of them had been almost effortless, and when he’d let himself think of future after the war, Steve had hoped they could keep doing something like that, keep working together. As for so many soldiers of his time, his hopes had been futile.

He’s found something similar in the future, if nothing quite as effortless as it was back then. First Nat, then Sam, Sharon and finally Wanda have made it into his nearest circle, not replacing anyone, because Peggy’s and Bucky’s places are theirs and always will be, regardless of the fact that Peggy is already gone, and that Steve has no idea what will happen with Bucky. Besides these four, his group of friends endures, hopefully stronger now that they’ve gone through a wringer. There are regrets, there always will be, but they should get over them.

Fury has dozens of people working on analyzing data gathered from all kinds of sources, and Steve does his part once more, looking for patterns, anything that’s needed. And there is a pattern emerging from the flow of information, something bigger than anything they’ve found yet.

Fury suggests he comes to stay at the base in Slovakia for a while; after all it’s easier to communicate while physically close. Steve is hesitant, this would most likely mean staying away from Wakanda longer than he has since they first arrived, weeks at least, and he’s loathe to leave Bucky, for all that he wouldn’t even know Steve’s gone. However, there’s no imminent breakthrough in sight when it comes to Bucky’s treatment, and this is important. This, whatever they are uncovering, could be a key piece in their mission to destroy HYDRA. Steve’s instincts all scream to him that this is the crucial break they’ve been after.

In the end, it’s not a hard choice to leave. After all, this is a task he took upon himself, and it’s important, one he means to see through. Sam comes with him and Wanda stays behind for now, working with the team responsible for Bucky’s care. The quinjet will take Steve back fast if he’s needed, and Wanda can come north if and when there’s an operation.

Nat and Sharon arrive the same day Sam and Steve do, and they all work with Fury’s people for several hectic days. Finally they can see what the data leads to. Two more HYDRA bases, for all appearances active, central to their operations. Taking both of them out would put a significant dent on HYDRA’s resources, maybe even one from which they wouldn’t be able to recover. There’s only one problem that Steve can see.

“We don’t have enough people,” is the conclusion he draws fairly fast. “We’d need to hit both of these at the same time, otherwise they’ll have time to evacuate the other. And if we divide our forces, even counting in Clint and Scott, the odds are really not in our favor.”

“They often aren’t,” Nat remarks, and Steve acknowledges it with a quirk of his mouth.

“I know, but since this isn’t quite as dire an emergency as usual, I’d like to be a bit more prepared,” Steve says, and she nods.

Sharon is the one to actually say it out loud. “What about the Avengers?”

“We could give them info on one of the bases,” Fury says. “We could then just coordinate our operation with theirs independently.”

“Not let them know we’re doing it?” Nat asks.

Steve doesn’t wait for an affirmation. “I don’t like that idea. I mean, we can’t have Ross and the rest of them know, because I’m fairly sure HYDRA must have someone in their inner circle. But considering the information flow between these two bases, they’re basically symbiotic. There’s no way Tony wouldn’t notice that. I want to be as straight with them as we can, it’s the only way we can ever be one group again. And I think we’re at the place where we can do this now.”

“Go for it together,” Sam says, and Steve nods, looking around him. For a second there’s quiet before everyone nods in agreement.

***

Planning for an operation requires sturdier communication lines than just phones, but they have a video conferencing and networking set up over dark net in no time. It’s weird, seeing the Avengers face to face again, even after months of talking to Tony. It’s a bit stiff at the beginning, awkward, but it only last for a while. Fairly soon they’re all immersed in detail, planning for the best way to simultaneously take out the two HYDRA bases.

One of them is close to Santiago in Chile, heavily fortified, and that one falls naturally to the Avengers, who can carry out an official operation and not have local authorities getting in between. The other base is more remote, to the south and up in the mountains on Argentinian side of border. It’s trickier to reach, and that will be handled by Steve’s team.

The timing will be crucial, which means they will need a fairly strict plan. And they need to plan for how to bring the issue to Ross as well for the Avengers to get clearance to carry out the operation as they want, since they can’t afford having Ross take it over and improvising so that the other part of the attack is compromised. They decide to utilize Fury’s original thought of not informing the Avengers as a cover story that Ross will be told after the fact, when it turns out there is another base he wasn’t aware of.

Ross probably knows where some of the information about HYDRA comes to the Avengers, but he apparently has decided to take the political points for it while they look for Steve’s team. The general public is under assumption that everything Steve’s team has done, if it has come public at all, is achieved by the Avengers, and that it’s a proof that the Accords work. Steve doesn’t care that the credit doesn’t go to them, but he knows the more popular the Accords become, the trickier it’ll be to repair the breach caused by them.

There are other versions of the story, circulating in darknets and even more regular social media, stories and rumors about HYDRA being taken down not by the Avengers but another group of superheroes, ones that dress in unfamiliar uniforms but are still familiar. It is something.

Steve knows they need pretty much everyone on board for this one, and even Clint comes in. They need Scott too, and when Steve thinks aloud that they could use his shrinking skills on both bases, he says, “That can be arranged.” When he arrives, it’s with a dark haired woman, who not only can shrink as he can, but has a suit that enables her to fly.

She introduces herself as Hope van Dyne, which feels a bit unreal to Steve. He remembers from his youth that the van Dynes were a famous family of socialites whose antics made it to the social pages of the papers. Steve didn’t much follow such things, but even he was aware of them, for a large part due to the fact that one of the girls once came to a dance hall in their neighborhood, probably looking for an adventure. Bucky had even danced with her that night. Steve wonders if she was a direct ancestor of Hope’s or one of her great aunts.

It takes them a week, but they finally have a plan ironed out, time table set and everyone ready. Tony and Maria take the carefully selected information to Ross, and present the plan from the Avenger’s side. Miraculously, there’s no argument. Everything is ready.

***

They’re waiting, which is something Steve got intimately familiar with during the war. It felt like all there was back then was fighting, marching and waiting. A lot more marching than fighting, and a lot more waiting than marching. Only now the waiting feels less volatile, less likely that everything is suddenly going to go wrong. Now he’s mostly bored, because there are only so many times one can go through the mission plan or check the equipment. It’s still hours before they will be on the way, everything is ready and there’s nothing to do but kill time. He tried to sleep a little earlier, and he knows most of his team is taking advantage of the waiting time to get some rest, but even though during the war he could sleep almost anywhere and anytime, that habit hasn’t stuck.

He’s standing outside, and the air is calming, refreshing. Even more so since he’s more used to the Wakandan weather now, which means Slovakian winter feels rather crisp. He stays for a few minutes before heading back in. He’s not really surprised to find Nat waiting for him just inside. They’ve spent the last few days planning and making sure everything is ready, but Steve caught her earlier looking like she wanted to talk, and not about the mission. Now’s as good a time as any, he thinks.

They find coffee and a quiet room, and when they’ve settled, she gets straight to the point.

“So, how are you holding up?”

Steve sighs, because the question is more difficult than it should be. “Depends. Fine on some fronts. And not so much on others. I mean, this right here,” he gestures around them, “the team, the missions, that’s getting there. There’s the whole mess of the Accords and what not, but I can deal with it.”

“And can you deal with the rest?”

“Have to, don’t I?”

“It’s not always that simple,” she observes, and Steve knows what she means.

“I know. But you know, a lot of times in my life, things have happened where either I deal with them or there’s nothing left, no safety net. So I guess it’s kind of a pattern in my thinking now.”

“You know you do have a safety net now, right? We’re going to be there, Sam and I and the others too.”

“I know, and trust me, I’m grateful. It’s just not that easy to change, even with the knowledge,” Steve admits.

“I would have thought James was your safety net before,” she says then, and Steve has to bite down the first thing that comes to mind, because it sounds like doubt toward Bucky, and it sits wrong with him.

“He was. So many times, and in so many ways. But sometimes the situation was that we were in the same boat, both either going over or not. And sometimes he just couldn’t help, and that can’t be held against him.”

“So what now?”

“Well, like I said, some things are fine, and it’s honestly getting better for me. A few months back it felt like it was all just one big tangle, everything connected to everything.”

“And when it’s like that, it’s hard to know where to start. I know. But it’s not like that now,” she says, understanding.

“No. Now I have been able to separate things in my head, and that’s why it’s a lot easier, because I can shut out the rest of it while I work, and look at it when I’m back in Wakanda.”

“And how is it, when you look at it?”

Steve sighs again. “I still don’t know. Some things are simple, and others, I just don’t know. I have no idea how we’ll go on from here, Bucky and me. It feels like anything could happen.”

“Or nothing?”

“I really, really hope it’s not going to be nothing.”

“Would you like to go back to how it was?” she asks, and the question surprises Steve.

“I know we can’t,” he says, not quite seeing where she aims at.

“I know, but if you could, would you? I know you’re not a fan of speculating, but humor me here.”

He thinks for a moment. “Honestly? No. That was then and now is different, I don’t even feel like I can reach back to it. And maybe —”

“Maybe what?” she asks, and Steve lets out a breath and decides he should just say it, to put in words what he never dared before, almost didn’t dare to think about for himself before he woke up in the new millennium.

“We were always close, you know that. But it was, for me, well. Sometimes I found myself thinking, wanting more than I should. Back then I kept it to myself, but now, it’s different. The world is different.”

It’s not at all an eloquent explanation, Steve knows it, but even just skirting around it with her makes him feel flustered. Still she smiles gently.

“Back with SHIELD, when I tried to set you up with all those women, the reason why I suggested only women was I figured you’d just withdraw more if I included men. Not because I thought you were strictly straight. But you got defensive enough, I didn’t want to push.”

“Could have fooled me,” Steve says, remembering how insistent she had been. “But you’re right, I probably would have gotten defensive.”

“So I guess the question is whether he feels at all similarly toward you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of tricky, because our boundaries always were fairly nonexistent, and then there was the war and there things just were different in general. You always become close with people watching your back, because a lot of the time there’s no one else, and everything is just so intense. So it’s hard to tell. Sometimes I thought maybe, and then I pushed it away because if I was wrong —”

“It would have been hard to recover from,” she concludes.

“Right. And that was before. Now? I really don’t know. We didn’t spend that much time together. There are some things that are same, familiar.”

“Like fighting together, I could tell. Muscle memory,” she interjects.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really tell that much. I know he’s physically comfortable with me again, he could sleep when I was there in the room, but that was about it. So I don’t know.”

“You’ll find out. I know this whole thing, what he chose, is hard, but at least you can take the time to think things through, figure out what you want.”

“Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do, and that I’m not getting anywhere,” Steve admits.

“I know. I’ve been there, trying to figure things out when it feels like I’m just running into walls. But trust me, you’ll get through.”

“Yeah, I hope so. And thank you.”

They’re quiet for a while before Nat smiles, in a way that Steve knows means he should be wary of what she’s about to say.

“So, since you are considering getting closer to your friend, have you ever actually been with a man?”

Steve slumps against a wall and does his best to direct a level look at her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“You know, usually when people say things like that, it means no,” she observes.

Steve can’t help but cringe, because it feels like a floodgate has been opened, that everything he’s resolutely not been thinking about is suddenly there, as vivid as any memories. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have words to express what it meant that they really had very little amount of physical boundaries, especially during the war, where everything was strange and urgent and desperate. There are all the things their closeness meant, and also all the things it didn’t mean back then, however much he would want it to be different now. Steve doesn’t know how to talk about any of that.

It’s showing on his face though, some of it at least, and she looks at him, tilting her head, and says, “Oh,” her mouth forming a perfect O-shape. “That’s, that’s a whole different set of complications I was expecting. Quite honestly.”

Steve thinks there’s a joke in there somewhere, something about being surprised he managed to hide anything from her, but he can’t find the levity. There’s only rawness in him. “I can’t talk about it, Nat. Not now.”

He doesn’t look at her, can’t. After a second there are her tiny hands enveloping one of his, her shoulder settling against his arm. “I know,” she says. “You don’t have to talk unless you’re ready. And thank you.”

Steve understands that she thanks him for opening up, however little it had been. It isn’t easy for either one of them; he tends to lock up, she tends to dodge, but the end result is the same. It’s hard to get close to either of them sometimes, Steve knows it. They’re both willing to give, both willing to listen and help in any way they can those they care about, but they are bad at accepting help for themselves. Maybe that’s why sometimes, when talking is hardest of all, when he feels like he has no words, or very few of them, he ends up talking to her. She understands how difficult it is. In turn, Steve treasures every instance she has opened up to him, shown her vulnerable side. There is no greater show of trust from her.

They sit there, side by side, until it’s time to leave for South-America.

***

It’s the early hours in the morning before sunrise when they move to position. The Avengers are ready with a troop of elite soldiers, waiting for a signal from Maria that the alarm system is down. As far as the soldiers know, she’s sneaked into the perimeter and hacked into the defense system, which she has. What they don’t know is she also carried Scott close enough to let him physically infiltrate the system and take care of the part where hacking wouldn’t be enough. When it’s time, Tony, Rhodey and Vision will go in first, take out the weapons, and the soldiers will round up the HYDRA members.

To the south Steve’s team is at the ready as well, waiting for the signal from Maria. At precisely 4:53 AM it comes, just as planned. “Go,” Steve says, hears the twang of Clint’s bow, and he’s running toward the front entrance. Red tendrils flash all around the complex as Wanda takes out their power just as Steve’s at the door. Without the electric lock it’s no trouble at all to kick it open. Just inside there’s a whisper of air at his ear, meaning Hope has taken off into the ducts seeking the server room. They’ll only have limited time before the Avengers’ handlers will know about this base too, and they will have to be clear before that. Steve isn’t worried though. His team can handle this, he trusts every single one of them will do their part, and that it’ll be fine.

And it is. Fifteen minutes later they have every member of HYDRA incapacitated, Sharon and Hope are finishing downloading files and erasing security footage. Ross might know Steve and some of his team are behind this, but Steve has no intention of letting him see their procedure or who precisely the team consists of. Two more minutes and he gets six all clears, and they head out, running and flying toward the quinjet. Clint takes the pilot’s seat and they are soon on the way north, fully camouflaged and undetectable.

Forty seven minutes since the start of the operation there’s a call Steve’s been expecting, the Avengers are on the way toward the second base. It’s an expected order, after all Ross would want to secure both bases too. And he will, only with some unasked for help. Soon there are three dots on the quinjet’s radar, and Clint adjusts the course to meet them. Steve opens the cargo door to see Tony and Rhodey fly past, waving, and he feels a whole new elation at seeing them both. Rhodey’s spinal prosthetic and Helen Cho’s work have helped him to get back into the suit, all because he’s refused to be grounded even when he needs assistive devices in his daily life. Steve has heard about it all from Tony, but it’s a whole another thing to see it. Vision comes closer and pauses before flying off again. Scott appears in the middle of them, grinning when he takes off his helmet.  

It all has gone perfectly according to the plan. They may not all work under the same name, but they are still a team in all the ways it matters.

***

They head further toward north, dodging all other traffic and listening to updates on the status of the operation. No one is at their tail, HYDRA seems to be in disorder based on the reports they have, and there are no serious injuries. Everything has gone as well as could be expected, Steve notes with satisfaction. It’ll take weeks, maybe months to ascertain what kind of impact this hit ultimately will have on HYDRA, but he is hopeful. He knows they’re nowhere near done with HYDRA, realistically speaking it’s nearly impossible to weed it completely out, but every step helps, and this was a big one.

Steve’s more than ready to get back to Wakanda since he’s been gone for weeks, by far the longest since they first arrived. He’s been on the phone with Abeni, T’Challa and Shuri, but in a strange way he misses the calm in Bucky’s room, for all that staying there makes him miss his friend all the more.

They drop Scott and Hope off at San Francisco, quite literally since the two of them turn tiny and jump off the quinjet, Scott hanging on to Hope. They then turn the course toward north-east, and settle for another stretch of flying. The quinjet is much faster than regular airplanes, but the distances are so great they still need hours to get home.

Clint, Laura and their children have settled in eastern Nova Scotia for now, near Louisbourg. The group stops there to rest and have lunch, although by now they’re all so hungry it doesn’t matter what the meal is called. After it Steve feels too exhausted for socializing, too jittery for sleeping, and heads to the sea shore a little away from the house. It’s cold, even if the late winter has been uncommonly warm, and he shivers even in his coat.

The sea is open, and Steve walks right to the edge and just follows the waves crashing toward him. It’s almost as if they’re crashing over him, even if he’s safely away from their reach. They drown the noise in his head, all the worries and concerns gone for a while. They help him just to be.

Sam finally comes to find him, and Steve knows it must have been at least an hour, but Sam doesn’t say anything about it, just stops next to him. For another ten minutes they both look over the waves, the gray clouds racing over their heads.

“I miss the sea,” Steve finally says. “When I lived in New York, back before the war, I used to go to the beach as often as I could. Not that often really, but still. It was calming, but also there was this tug inside me. I kept wondering what was on the other side, whether I’d ever see those places.”

“And look at you now,” Sam says.

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah, look at me now.”

“Now you want to go back,” Sam says, not even hint of a question in his voice.

“ _Right_ now, no. But eventually. Hopefully.”

Steve has no words for what he hopes for, for how he hopes it will happen. It’s something he doesn’t let himself think about, not now when he’s a fugitive. Not now, when he can’t even talk to Bucky. He doesn’t want to go back alone.

Sam pulls at his sleeve and Steve lets himself be guided back toward the house.

***

They’re back at Fury’s base, debriefing done and everyone in civilian clothes, ready to head out to wherever they came from, when there’s a message from Tony. It’s coordinates and a word that turns out to be the name of a dingy looking bar that the coordinates point to in Bohumin, north-east from Ostrava. Time and date say noon next day. Steve sends back just one word, _Sure._

Sam drops him off the quinjet at the outskirts of the town, and Steve hurries to the bar. It’s late winter, the day is cold, and he’s gotten used to the Wakandan climate, which is warm year round. Inside it’s almost dark, and the bartender glances at him when he pauses at the door to adjust his eyes but doesn’t say anything, just gestures toward the corner. It’s still few minutes to noon, but Tony is already there, seated at the corner table. Steve shrugs out of his jacket as he makes his way forward, and Tony pours him a glass of whiskey that tastes more expensive than you’d expect to find at a place like they’re in.

Tony is dressed down, non-descriptive, less conspicuous than Steve has ever seen him. Usually he projects outward with every aspect of his personality, and even the casual clothes are aggressive, almost performative in their loudness. Now there’s nothing like that, and the two of them probably could pass for just two random men meeting in a bar.

Over the last months they’ve messaged to each other, they’ve talked on phone, even video-conferenced, but it’s the first time they’re face to face since Steve pulled Bucky up and left Tony and his shield behind in Siberia. It is a strange feeling all of a sudden, not knowing how to interact. They’ve never had a frictionless relationship, never will either, but they spent enough time together after DC to find a place where it worked, where they knew which jabs were meant to be shed like water off a duck’s back. Now it’s different, everything less stable, as if they’re walking on glass, and at first neither one of them knows what to say.

The silence stretches on for several minutes, and they keep shifting, opening their mouths as if to start saying something but always back out. They drink the whiskey. It’s like they’ve been backed into a corner of awkwardness, and Steve has no idea how they’re going to get out. It’s also the longest he’s ever seen Tony stay silent while awake.

There’s a loud crash from the outside and they both jump at the sound, but it’s just a minor fender bender on the street, no one hurt. They look back at each other, and there’s a twitch to Tony’s lips that turns into a guffaw. Steve starts to laugh as well, and the tension is broken just like that.

When he’s recovered enough to talk, Steve says, “It’s good to see you, Tony.”

“Yeah, you too,” Tony replies, takes a drink and that sets them off.

They talk about the work they did, their teams and what they think will happen next. Same sort of things they always talk about on the phone. After a lull in the conversation Tony picks up a parcel from the chair next to him and hands it to Steve, who opens it. Inside is a small stack of notebooks, similar to the one Steve found in Bucky’s apartment.

“So I guess there’s a misfiling of evidence somewhere,” Steve just says, because everything else is too raw.

“I suspect no one finds those that significant, except for the person they belong to,” Tony says, shifting in his chair.

“I’ll give them to him when I can,” Steve says, and Tony’s brows knit together.

“When you can? I thought the two of you would stick tight.”

It’s only then that Steve realizes he’s never yet told Tony what Bucky chose to do, why even if they are in the same place they kind of aren’t, and why Bucky never shows up on the missions. He explains now, tells about the cryostasis and triggers, about the search for cure and the risks. He skirts around his fears, because those aren’t something he can talk about.

Tony listens intently, and when Steve is done only asks, “Have you asked Helen to come in? She might have suggestions on how to handle the restoration of the brain tissue.”

“We asked, and she’s worked on it for a couple of months with the team.”

Tony nods. “Hope it works.”

“Me too,” Steve says, unable to hold onto the sigh that escapes.

Tony refills their glasses and after a moment speaks again, sounding more subdued now.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it over the last months, and it’s. Well, let’s say I’m glad it didn’t go like I wanted back then in Siberia. It was all such a mess.”

“I know,” Steve says, swallowing. “The worst time too.”

“All I really wanted was to kill him, and you know, I knew that would hurt you and well.”

“You were, maybe not glad, but at leased pleased with the idea?” Steve guesses.

“Yeah,” Tony says and looks Steve right in the eye.

“I get it,” Steve says, and he does, the feeling of betrayal, but he can’t quite articulate it. “There’s a reason why I really wanted to just burn the whole of SHIELD to ground three years ago,” he finally just says, and Tony nods, clearly understanding.

There are no apologies said out loud, no more than has already been offered, but Steve knows what this is. This is forgiveness, on both sides. It doesn’t mean it’s all back to normal, they will still need to work on everything, but this is a step where he knows they’re safe, where they won’t slide back because of something relating to the past.

They talk about the Accords too.

“Do you think it might have been different, if it hadn’t all happened at the same time?” Tony asks.

“Different, sure,” Steve says. “Better? Don’t know. But it’s useless to speculate, all we can do is move forward.”

“True. The timing was really convenient for Ross anyway.”

“I don’t know if he’d agree, with how things have fallen into place. But sure, he did know how to take advantage, played on our guilt and pretended to offer a solution, except it can’t be a middle ground if there’s not a negotiation first.”

“Yeah, he talked about responsibility, but it’s more and more politics. Sounds good but there’s a lot when you start digging,” Tony says, and continues, “And we didn’t have too much time to do the digging, nor were we in a good place to do so either.”

“No. But what’s done is done, and we have to do better next time, try to repair the damage done in the past.”

“Do you think we can?”

“No, probably not,” Steve says, because above all he knows they need to be honest about this to make it through. “At least not all of it. But that’s how it always is. Still, we do what we can.”

“Never give up, even when things go bad,” Tony says, echoing Steve’s words from months back.

“Right.”

***

They part ways and head to deal with the aftermath at their own ends. Sam and Wanda pick Steve up and they go back to Wakanda.

Steve keeps Bucky’s notebooks in their wrapping and leaves them in the room that was designated as Bucky’s before he went into stasis, even if Bucky didn’t really sleep there that often. He doesn’t look into the books, doesn’t read them, because he knows it’s not his place, not unless Bucky allows it. For all that he knows there must have been several people that looked through them, it still doesn’t mean he should be one of them. In fact, the fact that the confidentiality has been breached only means Steve wants to be even more careful.

He’s thought about it time and again, read the official files and supplemented them with other sources and all his imagination, but still he doesn’t fully know what Bucky went through with HYDRA. Part of him wants to know, but he’s decided that it’s for Bucky to decide whether he can or not. Steve has stopped looking for new sources, unless they are relevant to their missions, and it feels like the right thing to do.

Because of necessity he knows about the triggers, and can guess some of their significance, but he doesn’t know how it happened that Bucky lost so much of himself. Maybe Bucky will tell him, maybe he won’t but it’s okay. Steve can respect that choice.

 

* * *

 

##### Backward – The Soldier

He didn’t know how long he’d lain there, strapped to the table. There’d been injections that made his blood boil and freeze inside him, as if there was liquid fire flowing in his veins, only to be turned slow and sluggish, thick and syrupy. He imagined his heart bursting trying to pump it, and maybe it did, because he lost consciousness after that, the pain exploding inside his chest.

There were shapes of people moving around him, poking and prodding, draining him of liquids, cutting into his flesh. They talked amongst each other but he didn’t listen, couldn’t concentrate. He didn’t think of anything, couldn’t even remember anything. There were flashes, sometimes, images of places and people, shapes and sounds and smells. The phantom heat of hands on his skin, disappearing under clinical rubber gloved touch. The pain and time and bright lights searing into his eyes had taken all of it away.

The pain moved, from everywhere to his left arm, and he tried not to listen or see, but he did. There was blood and bone and gleaming metal, jolts of shock all around his body. The metallic taste of electricity on his tongue.

They released his restraints for a while, and he didn’t know his name but he knew determination. His hands didn’t match but it didn’t matter, both of them served him well.

He didn’t get anywhere, not even off the table before there was a prick of a needle at his neck and sliding darkness of unconsciousness. Zola’s face, satisfied, and he knew enough to fear it.

“The procedure has already started.”

The last thought he had was to wonder what procedure was still ongoing, since his new hand was already functional.

***

They made him run. They stood with guns between him and them, telling him to sprint from one end of the large room to another. Again and again. The new weight on his left made him stumble at first, but after a while he’d started to adjust. It was information to them, but to him also. He needed to know what he could do.

The haziness was gone, but he felt empty, as if things he’d known had been neatly tucked safe inside him, to be kept there until he needed them. There were no more flashes, no more images called from within. No more faces he knew better than his own. He kept what he needed, the knowledge of what he could do, and that he needed to get away. Everything else he let float away into his subconsciousness. It was the only way he’d make it through.

Sometimes they strapped him down onto the table and opened up his left arm, adjusted things before neatly closing the panels again. There were always pinpricks of sensation at the back of his skull that bloomed into a headache. It was easy enough to ignore.

Sometimes they strapped him down and hurt him, for what purpose he didn’t know. After he was exhausted and breathing hard, they made him run again. Back and forth.

Sometimes they left him in a dark room. Time didn’t move at all there.

They made a mistake, and he took his guard down and ran. Long corridors, people in white coats scurrying away. He didn’t get out; he was shot in the hip and dragged back to the familiar table and strapped down, the bullet dug out. Zola was furious, screaming at everyone.

They hurt him again.

They left him in the dark again.

They made him run until he was exhausted.

They gave him and order and he said no.

They beat him and he still said no.

They put him in the dark and it all happened again. Over and over. He kept saying no. He kept not moving when commanded, when presented with a man, restrained and afraid. He didn’t kill when they told him to.

He tried to run again, and they were forced to shoot him again to contain him.

It was hard to remember why he had to say no, why he had to try and get away. He just knew he had to.

When he’d healed, he was sedated, immobile but conscious, and pushed into a chamber made of metal and glass. The cold burned him, and finally there was nothing.

***

Consciousness drifted back into him. He was freezing cold, couldn’t see much, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel properly. He tried to swallow, and it felt like there were pieces of jagged glass in his throat. He was vaguely aware of being dragged somewhere, pushed down and restrained.

Hearing was the first sense to come back. German and Russian, hard to parse the meaning. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. A flicker of something, a shape. A man? A voice speaking in English. _Come on, Buck. Remember. You always stand up._ No one else paid any attention to the voice.

He began to struggle, but the restraints were too strong, keeping him nearly immobile in the chair.

Finally his vision cleared, just to see two men move some kind of a metal contraption over his head. They fit it tight, covering one of his eyes. His breathing rate picked up, he knew this couldn’t be anything but bad. Someone jammed a piece of rubber in his mouth, and he redoubled his efforts to get away. The restraints held.

Then there was a lightning inside him, and he knew nothing more.

***

Hearing was the first to come back, then vision. Moving from darkness to light, except it didn’t change much. There was an emptiness inside him, and he felt into it as he lay there, staring into the ceiling. There was a deep sense of loss, even if he couldn’t think of anything he should be missing.

There were voices, German.

“What if it doesn’t work? What if he’s like the others, lost all his cognitive abilities?”

“It won’t matter. He’s no use to us if he keeps fighting.”

Fighting. They were most likely talking about him, but he didn’t remember fighting.

He pushed himself up in the chair, to sit up instead of reclining. Guns around the room came up, pointed at him. He stayed still.

“Do you know what you are?”

The question came from a short man, in accented English. He didn’t reply, just waited, and the man seemed pleased.

“You are our soldier. You will do everything we tell you to. You are to be the new fist of HYDRA.”

At the last word there was a flicker inside him, of something that used to be there, but wasn’t anymore. There was only the terrible emptiness. He licked his lips, to speak.

“You took it away.”

Everyone in the room leaned back, put distance between him and them. They were afraid, down to the last man. They must have a reason, he registered. It came back to him, the discussion in German. _He’s no use to us if he keeps fighting._ And another voice, one from just beyond recognition, speaking in English, giving him a command that couldn’t be ignored.

_Fight. Run._

He lunged, and he got a few of them, but there were too many. He went down, beaten and bruised, blacking out from a prick of a needle.

***

He woke up in a dark cell, only to be dragged out and pushed into the chair again.

Lightning in his brain, and they took everything away from him again, every bit of memory and self he’d managed to piece together.

It didn’t stick.

Nor did the next time. Or the one after that.

Every time he fought back the short man, Zola, looked more and more frustrated.

Finally the lightning was much stronger, leaving him in the chair, unable to move or speak. It took a lot of time, days at least, for him to recover from it.

As soon as he could move, he tried to run again.

They subdued him, but they didn’t kill him.

The glass and metal box with its heavy door came almost as a relief, even if the cold burned the second before he knew nothing.

***

The next time he was woken up, there were a dozen Russians he was fairly sure he’d never seen before. He noted how they were a tight knit group, clearly used to working together. He also noted how they were just a bit apart from everyone else, from both the Russians he knew, and the Germans. There was an agreement between the groups, some kind of mutual benefit, but no trust. It was plain for him to see.

The new group directed his treatment that time.

They made him run again, laps around the biggest training hall, until he fell from exhaustion. It took the whole day, but it happened. Then he was dragged to lie on a table, strapped down. No food, no water, no sleep.

There were bright lights shining in his face, something sharp at his ribs if he closed his eyes for too long.

They read him words, long lists of them, one after another, and had him reply with the first thing that came to mind. It went on for hours; they were clearly looking for something, some kind of a reaction. Bit by bit, he noticed that some words kept coming back. He wasn’t sure if he replied with the same thing every time, didn’t really hear the words coming out of his mouth.

He always replied though, he didn’t want the pain that came with refusal. And what hurt could come from this?

Sometimes he struggled to find an answer, there was nothing but black blankness in his head. Sometimes there were hints, things he could barely grasp. And sometimes there were images, sharp and bright, almost a shock in their clarity.

They said _longing,_ and there was a shape of a man, morphing between small and frail to tall and broad, always with the same mop of blond hair, same blue eyes.

_Rusted_ brought a watch, in large hands of a man, later in his own pocket, hard to keep running in the damp European forests.

_Seventeen_ meant a summer, endless and beautiful, perfect. The first time he thought of himself as a man and not a boy.

_Daybreak_ was walking home, tired but happy, as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

_Furnace_ was pain, fire in his veins, alien and scary.

_Nine_ meant faces of men, strapped on tables the same as he was, carried away one by one before him.

_Benign_ was a woman, brown hair and kind hands. And another, blond and slim, devoted to the same person as he was.

_Homecoming_ was a pair of hands, steady and strong as he’d never seen them, and yet familiar. Pulling him out of hell.

_One_ signified the most dangerous thing he knew. The most beautiful. The most terrifying.

_Freight car_ meant blue; bright light, scared eyes, a form becoming smaller and smaller until it was gone.

They stopped finally when it was only those words left, repeated over and over again, until they were satisfied. Then he was put back into the dark cell. He curled into the corner and waited.

He didn’t know how long he waited, days maybe, until he was taken into the chair. He didn’t remember eating, he’d barely had anything to drink, probably hadn’t slept either, and he was weak. Still, he fought. It didn’t help.

There was the chair, and the lightning, and the first word. There were commands, punishment if he didn’t comply, the chair once he did. Then they did it again. And again, until the word was seared into him. Always asking, _Are you ready to comply?_ Then he was taken back into his dark cell.

He wondered why they’d questioned him in English about the words, but were now saying them in Russian.

He was brought back out, and it was done over again. The chair. The lighting. Another word. Orders. Punishment or return to the beginning. The dark cell. And back out again.

It was hard to keep track on anything, hard to remember why he should, but he did. There was a conversation, just next to him. No one ever worried he heard them.

“The Americans will want to take him. They believe they can just take and take, whatever they want, meddle in with everything.”

“Do not worry, we are building an insurance. The layers are strong, which means they will only need part of the sequence for full compliance. Only we will have it all.”

There was the chair. The lightning. And the last word.

Finally, there was the ice again.

***

He was woken up, cold and stiff, senses trying to catch up after being frozen and thawed. Hands were dragging him somewhere, ruthless and efficient. He was pushed into the chair, restrained and the metal contraption pulled over his head.

The lightning came and took everything, leaving only pain.

There was a voice, steady and measured, speaking, no, _reciting_ words. A pause between each one. All of them pulling him deeper.

Желание

Ржавый

Семнадцать

Рассвет

Печь

Девять

Добросердечный

Возвращение на родину

Один

Грузовой вагон

The pain ended, the restraints opened. The man stood in front of him, unafraid, not behind a gun. “Солдат?”

There was only one possible reply.

“Готовый подчиняться.”

_Ready to comply._

***

He was back in his cell, later, and all he could think of was, _Why didn’t I fight them?_

***

(It took years and the efforts of dozens of people to create the Winter Soldier, to shape a man not into a machine, but something else, something that could be directed like a machine but that had the resourcefulness of a man.

It would take years more, and the efforts of a lot of people, but most of all the man that HYDRA had tried to suppress, to bring him to a place where he again was a man, albeit one with the capability to still be more, and less. What would matter was that he’d be the one making all the choices.)

 

* * *

 

##### Forward – Heart Laid Bare

February 26th in London is miserable. It’s so cold it might as well be below freezing, except the rain that comes down is water and not snow, or any of their combinations.

Steve honestly prefers it that way. It means that the streets are fairly empty since it’s Sunday and most people aren’t working, and a chance that a random passerby recognizes him is smaller than usual. His large umbrella helps him with that, and it also obscures him from the cameras hanging at every corner as they do at modern cities.

He’s got no doubt that there is at least some kind of an algorithm looking for him from the footage captured with the cameras nearest or at the Kensal Green cemetery. Coming here is a risk, but it is something he needs to do. It’s the first time he’s visited Peggy’s grave since her funeral almost nine months earlier.

February 26th isn’t in any way significant to him, to Peggy, or to them together. Her birthday too is more than a month away still. It’s precisely the reason he chose the date, one that doesn’t mean anything, or isn’t even close to any specific date. It lessens the chance of being intercepted.

The wind picks up as he walks through the gate into the cemetery, and he hunches his shoulders for warmth. He knows where the grave is, and he heads there, keeping his pace calm and respectful. There’s no one else in sight.

Finally there, he pauses at the foot of the grave for a second before laying down the bouquet of roses he brought. They’re deep red in color, a shade that reminds him of the lipstick she wore every day he knew her before he went down with the Valkyrie. He returns to stand at the foot of the grave, the wet ground squelching under his feet.

He feels like there is something he should say. He always talked to his mother when visiting her grave, he talked to Bucky when visiting his memorial in Brooklyn during the two years he thought Bucky was dead. Now, he can’t find words. There’s so much he wants to say, and also the feeling that he has said it all.

After he came back and found out that she was still alive, he was grateful to have at least someone that he’d known left. In the early months after his return she’d still been sharp, and had had better grasp on her memories from one moment to next. The early signs of the illness that finally claimed her had already been there, but they’d been momentary lapses, not her fully forgetting that he’d come back at all. It had been hard to watch the slow advance of the illness, to see her grow more and more frail, see the lapses in her memory become greater and recovery harder every time.

It had been hard, but it had meant that Steve had taken care to say everything he wanted to tell her, to tell her things even if she might forget them, to tell her that he still loved her, had for every day after he came back. He still does, even if the shape of the love has shifted since he first woke up. She’d moved on in her life after the war, and he’d been hurtled forward in time, unchanged. Where they finally met was so different from where they’d left off that the love between them had to change too. Steve is glad it had, glad that they found a place where they still cared about each other, and understood each other unlike anyone else in the world. It hadn’t been what he’d dreamed of during the war, but he’d taken it, because what he’d wanted had been lost forever.

Now he’s standing in front of her final resting place, and he’s already said everything. What comes finally out is simple, but maybe it’s enough, all he really needs to say.

“I miss you. I love you. Always will. And I’m trying to follow your advice about starting over, I’ve been slow but maybe I’m getting there.”

Ten minutes later there is a sound of footsteps to his left. The figure under the big umbrella and long raincoat is familiar, one Steve has been expecting. He moves his umbrella so that it’ll cover the both of them, and Sharon ducks under it and closes her own. She has a bunch of lilies in her hand, white with just the slightest hint of pink in them.

They agreed to meet here today, since she too wanted to come but can’t on any obvious days for the same reasons as him. Steve can tell it’s hard for both of them, being here, remembering what they’ve lost, but the companionship makes it a bit easier. No one else they know and can talk to these days knew Peggy like they did. For Sharon it’s probably even sharper kind of missing; after all, she never knew a time when Peggy wasn’t there. For all that Steve loved and still loves Peggy, he had a life that she never was a part of.

Over the past nine months they’ve settled into a companionship with Sharon that’s simple, as much as it can be. Ever since he found out she was with SHIELD, Steve kept in touch with her, trying to figure out what they were and what they could be. It was tricky, with their lives having taken such different turns after Insight, and in the end the opportunity where they could have been more than friends passed them by, or maybe it never quite was there.

Steve knows he hesitated from the start, because even if he did like her, there had been the deception, the hiding of her identity. Even if it was under orders and for work, it still stung. And she of course had to deal with the baggage of history, and the name that she’d decided to hide for her career. In the end, Steve thinks this is the right way, and he knows she agrees. They’re friends, they’re colleagues, and it works. They keep in close touch, and support each other when needed.

They talk about Peggy for a while, exchange memories from the times the other didn’t know her, and they talk about the influence she had on their lives, and still continues to have.

“Back in 2014, right before Insight, the night when Fury was shot at my apartment actually, she told me I should just start over,” Steve tells her. “I was questioning things, because even if I had a life, it wasn’t really what I wanted to do. I just didn’t seem to find any alternatives. I’m only now seeing how much I really needed that advice. I was looking into past only, and couldn’t let go.”

“Can’t let go of it all though,” Sharon says.

“No, not really, but it’s more, I guess looking forward, what to do about things, instead of just yearning back to how things were.”

“And are you succeeding?”

“Somewhat, I guess. Slowly. And what about you? You too had to start over with all this.”

“Getting there, I suppose.”

After a few more minutes Steve says goodbye, and leaves her to have her own private moment. He heads out to his car that was arranged via one of Fury’s contacts, and starts the drive back to where the jet can land and pick him up. Sam is piloting, flying somewhere over the sea now probably, away from the regular flight paths.

As he drives, he again thinks of how modern London feels weird to him, more so than even New York. He has such specific memories of this city, about how it was during the war, that the changes feel odd and out of place. The city always feels almost familiar, but everything is at least a little bit shifted, even buildings older than him.

New York has changed too, of course, but since he lived there for 25 years, he got used to how it both changed and how it stayed the same. He knows the soul of the city, and that hasn’t been altered by the progression of years, he still recognizes it despite the new buildings and lights and all that. The change still feels familiar in a way it never does in London.

He spent most of the wartime somewhere on the continent, but London was the base for them, and some of the happier memories from the war he has are set in London. This city doesn’t feel like the same one where the moments of relaxation, even fleeting happiness happened, and it feels like a door to past has closed.

Maybe it is a good thing, to have it closed. He should remember Peggy’s advice, to look forward instead of back.

***

As it usually happens, the next tip they get means they have to move in a rush. They’ve had some vague intelligence about a HYDRA splinter cell that practices in human experimenting, something that makes Steve’s hackles rise more than usual. They know it’s a small cell, something that they can easily take out, but they don’t have the precise location. The tip gives them a possible source.

It brings them to a mining town in Bulgaria. Nat has tracked down an informant there, and Steve, Wanda and Sam flew out to meet her. Now Steve and Sam are sitting at a small coffee place, waiting for Wanda and Nat who’ve gone to meet the informant.

Steve feels jittery, a new mission ahead, another sliver of evil to be taken out. Sometimes it seems there’s no end to it, not even now that HYDRA is even more scattered than before due to their combined hit with the Avengers. It shook loose a lot of new information, including what they have about the cell they’re tracking now, but it also meant the remains have scurried into hiding.

“Here they come,” Sam says, and true enough, Nat and Wanda are making their way toward the cafe, a brisk determination in their pace.

Steve and Sam join them and they all head for the jet.

“We got it,” Wanda says.

“But we have to move now, the informant thought they might be feeling paranoid,” Nat adds.

“We’re ready, and from what we know, we’ll be able to do it with the four of us,” Steve decides. “Unless you got something new on it.”

“No, what we heard now pretty much confirmed what we had. In fact, I’d say the four of us is probably an overkill,” Nat says, just as there’s commotion at the edge of the town.

Steve doesn’t speak the language, but it’s obvious from the distress of the people what’s happened.

“A mine has collapsed,” he says, a tightness inside him.

“And there are people inside,” Nat adds, since she actually has some Bulgarian.

Steve takes a second to think, even if he knows what he has to do. “Nat, Sam, do you think you guys can handle HYDRA? Wanda and I can best help here.”

Sam nods, “We’re on it.”

“And Sharon and Clint are actually close enough on the way there, if one of them can make it we’ll be fine. And even if not, we’ll take care of it,” Nat adds.

They separate, Steve and Wanda heading for the mines to help, and Sam and Nat to the quinjet. Ever since he heard about the human experiments, Steve has been itching to take down this particular cell, and now that the time has come, he’s not going. It feels right, though, because even if he swore to take down HYDRA, they still have to prioritize human lives. This way they can do both. He knows that Sam and Nat will take care of HYDRA, even if it’ll be just the two of them, and they might have to choose more drastic measures as a result, but Steve doesn’t feel sorry about that.

It’s slow going in the mine, Wanda turns fallen rocks into sand and moves it out, and Steve moves the rocks and supports unsteady spots. The locals bring new beams to fortify the tunnel again. They have to be careful every step of the way; one wrong move might make the structure fall on top of the rescuers, or kill everyone still alive on the other side.

It takes hours before they make it through. On the way they find two bodies, young men that are carried away by their families to be mourned. Beyond the collapsed part they find survivors, shaken and dirty, some with injuries, but most people in the mine during the collapse are brought out alive. Steve and Wanda stay until they are sure everyone is accounted for.

It’s dark already when they return to the town and almost collapse on chairs at the little coffee place. They are brought food and water, and they get thanks in several languages, not all of which they understand, but the meaning is clear. Wanda’s eyes shine, and Steve is happy to see her among people, having revealed her powers and not being feared, as it has been too often the case for the past year.

They sit there, recovering, and watch the mix of happiness and sorrow unfolding in the town. The residents are happy for everyone that’s been saved, mourning for those lost.

“Can’t save everyone,” Wanda echoes Steve’s thoughts, and the words from when they were still Avengers.

“No. But we always try. Today we saved those we could, and brought the rest of them back to their families. And tomorrow we’ll try again.”

The night has fallen when they start thinking of getting back to Wakanda. Nat and Sam took the jet, so they’re kind of stranded, but as they make their way to the edge of town, one of T’Challa’s numerous aides appears by their side. Apparently on the way to HYDRA base Sam had called a ride for them.

Halfway to Wakanda Sam and Nat get back into contact, with news that the HYDRA base has been taken down and the soldiers and scientists apprehended. Both Sharon and Clint had come along, so they had plenty of people to work on it.

It has been a good day, Steve muses, as he waits for them to get home. Wanda is asleep, her head resting on his shoulder and a blanket wrapped around her. Using magic is always draining, but there’s still a peaceful expression on her face that Steve likes to see.

He too feels peaceful. Months earlier he decided to take it upon himself to be rid of HYDRA, and that target hasn’t changed, he’s still going to go after them. Still, it’s a fear he didn’t even know he had until now; that he’d get entangled into this mission too much, as he has been wont to do before. Now he knows he can still step away, can see when other things are more important and where his skills can be used better. It doesn’t have to be him specifically to take down every single HYDRA cell, the point is that they are taken down. It’s important, but it hasn’t taken over his life.

He thinks of Peggy and her advice, to let go and start over, and he thinks he needs to keep following it, because when left to his own devices he has a tendency to get fixated on things. There was the war, as well as HYDRA. Then there was SHIELD, and his past that he tried to keep alive in the confusing future. Even later there were the Avengers, and now HYDRA again, and if he’s not careful, he could be getting lost into the crusades. He has done so before and might do it again.

And even if these causes are important, they can’t be everything. He can’t carry on with just them, can’t be a human if they’re all he has. He needs more.

***

Often arriving to some profound conclusion is described by it coming like a lightning from the clear sky. It’s not like that for Steve at all.

It’s true there is a moment when he’s not there yet, and the moment right after when he is, but it’s not about not knowing, not about a sudden realization. Instead he knew but didn’t look too closely, didn’t want to acknowledge it until he was sure.

It’s a morning much like any other, and he’s sitting in Bucky’s room when he finally does look into it, into himself. All he can think is that it’s so obvious, and that in a way nothing really has changed, because he’s already loved Bucky for decades. It’s just that for a longest time he didn’t want to think about what it meant. Couldn’t.

Now he’s sitting on the floor as he usually does, listening to the low hum of the cryostasis machine, and finally looks at it straight on. It doesn’t really matter what it used to mean that he loved Bucky, all that matters is what it means now that Steve still loves him. That he is in love with Bucky, and that he finally admits it to himself.

Maybe it’s strange that the realization comes now, after Bucky’s been under for about nine months. It’s been long enough that Steve knows in general memories have started to fade, and that it’s easy to start fabricating things in one’s head without even realizing. His memory, enhanced by serum, is much harder to deceive, although not impossible. He’s not trying now, he can remember the last days with Bucky as if they happened only yesterday.

Those days weren’t easy; Steve remembers hurting all over, in body and soul and heart. There was the knowledge of what he’d lost already, and anticipation for what he was still about to lose. Yet, there were good times too, perfect moments that shine in his memory like stars.

One of those was when they were resting in the comfortable nest of rugs and pillows in their living room, both still stiff and achy from the fight in Siberia. Bucky hadn’t really slept during the previous night at all, but had fallen asleep there. In his sleep Bucky curled closer, his hand finding Steve’s knee to rest on. Steve didn’t dare to move in case he woke Bucky, but frankly he didn’t want to either. It was the most content, in a way, that he’d felt in years. He just kept reading his book and listening to Bucky breathing, and it felt unfair that they’d had to pay such a high price to get to that moment.

After Bucky woke up they talked, mostly about Steve’s book, and as he remembers his lips curl into a smile that he knows is sardonic. Back then he remarked on the main character being in love with his best friend without realizing it, which cuts all too close in retrospect. At least they still have a chance to have a better life, to make something of it.

He feels light, having finally come clean, even if it’s only with himself for now. He knows too that it doesn’t mean it’ll be perfect from now on, or that it’ll ever go the way he would want. After all, loving one can do alone, but you need two for a relationship. And he doesn’t know what Bucky will want when he comes out of stasis.

Even with the potential best case scenario, Steve knows it’ll still take time. Even if the love is mutual, he’s sure Bucky is at most where Steve himself was all those months ago when they last spoke. There’s still a lot of waiting ahead for him.

Then there is everything else; the seventy years of history that Bucky still clearly hasn’t dealt with. Steve knows only the barest amount, he knows the records but he doesn’t know any of it from Bucky, doesn’t know what he remembers or doesn’t, or what Bucky wants to do about it. He’s not sure if Bucky knows either. All he can do is wait and see, however difficult it’ll be.

Steve also knows that love is about giving, not taking, and now he knows what he’ll choose to do with it. Maybe some day, if it turns out to be impossible, he’ll make a different choice, but it’ll be a long time before he’ll resort to that. It took him seventy years to reach Bucky again. He can be patient with it, even when there’s no certainty, no guarantees.

He’s never been afraid to take risks in his life, except maybe with his own heart. Perhaps it is time to throw that last bit of caution into the wind too, and acknowledge the possibility he’s always known was there between the two of them. Maybe it’s time to just jump in and trust in his ability swim.

***

Steve stays in Bucky’s room for longer than he usually does before he walks back to the apartment without going for his regular run. He doesn’t feel like exercising that day, the mental effort has left him drained. Sam clearly has already been; he’s sitting at the table, reading a medical journal.

Sam glances at Steve as he goes to get a mug of coffee and says, “You don’t look like you were running for a couple of hours. I mean, I know you can run ridiculously fast without even getting out of breath but still.”

“I didn’t go,” Steve says and settles down opposite to Sam. He should probably find something to eat, but he doesn’t quite feel like it yet.

“Don’t tell me you spent all morning staring at Barnes.”

“I had a lot to think,” Steve just says, without trying to justify himself.

Sam clearly knows something has happened, since he leans in a bit, more focused, even if he probably doesn’t know he has these physical tells. “Like what?”

“Like it was fairly ironic of me to talk with Bucky about how the main character in _In Search of Lost Time_ is in love with his best friend.”

“Oh,” Sam just says, clearly trying to adjust his thoughts, and Steve feels a bit of satisfaction at having caught him off guard. These days it’s almost as difficult to do with Sam as it is with Nat for him.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He is a bit surprised too, because just telling it to Sam was so easy. Now he knows, and it doesn’t make Steve feel uncomfortable or exposed, as it sometimes does when people refer to him and Bucky and what they used to be. The feeling might come later, but for now it’s easy.

“So, you know —” Sam starts, but pauses and doesn’t continue.

“What?” Steve prompts, knowing this’ll be some kind of possible deterrent.

“You know you don’t know him, right? Not really. I mean, he’s changed and it’s not like you’ve had a lot of time to catch up with him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So how can you fall in love with him, especially now that you haven’t talked with him or anything in nine months?”

Steve has always appreciated Sam’s bluntness, the way he has of saying exactly what he means, not mincing words. He rubs his eyes. “I didn’t. Fall in love with him I mean. I just realized, or maybe I should say I accepted I already was in love with him. Ever since a long time ago.”

“How long exactly?” Sam asks, clearly curious.

“Since 1934, probably,” Steve says, flashing back to that summer that was warm and as perfect as any he’s ever had.

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s not the same,” Sam says, getting serious again.

“No. But that’s not a reason to just try and not love him. When I found him in Austria, he was different, I knew it, and still loved him. I was different and he accepted me. Hell, a lot of people went to war and came back changed. Still do. Should the people that love them just let go and not even try to love them still? I know you don’t think like that.”

“No, I don’t,” Sam says, and sighs. “It’s just going to be a lot harder for you. Most likely.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. There’s all of that has happened after he fell, and it’s not like we ever talked about us anyway. Not that much. I don’t really know where he’s at.”

“Right, about that. Do you know if he, how does he feel?”

“I’m —” Steve starts and pauses to collect his thoughts. There’s so much, everything they’ve been to each other, and there are so many implications, but no certainty. Not when it come to this. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s completely out of the question, so there’s that at least. But most of this I’m basing on what happened before the end of the war, and like you said. He’s changed.”

“No way to know then until he wakes up.”

“No. And I know, even in the very best case scenario, it’s going to take a long time. There are probably a hell of a lot of other things he’ll have to deal with, so even if he were to love me back, it will probably take him a while to get to place where he can admit it.”

“Like it did with you,” Sam says, and smiles.

“Yeah, like me. And because I’ve figured things out for myself, when he wakes up he’s not going to be on the same page at all. It’ll probably be really frustrating for me, but you know. Nothing much I can do about it.”

“And no certainties about the result,” Sam reminds him, as if Steve doesn’t know.

“Yeah. Still, I can wait for a while. And besides, the reason why he’s struggling so much —”

“Goddamn it Rogers, do not say it’s your fault. You know that’s not true.”

“I know you think so, and I know he agrees with you.”

“As does everyone else.”

“I still feel like I should have caught him. Or gone back for him. I don’t think that’s going to change,” Steve admits, and Sam is quiet for a while.

“Yeah, I get it. Besides, not that I have much leg to stand on telling you to let it go. Makes me kind of a hypocrite.”

They fall into silence, and Steve thinks back to the last few years, of how he remembered Bucky when he thought he was gone, and how it changed afterward when he knew Bucky was alive but in the wind. He thinks back to the memories he’s cherished, and the others he’s pushed back because they are too painful. It’s been harder to do that ever since they spent those few precious days together before Bucky went under. Since then Steve has felt more alive inside his skin than he remembers having been in ages. A lot of things have been surfacing, and it’s been harder to push them back.

“So,” Sam breaks the silence. “Are you okay?”

“I,” Steve pauses to think, “I think I am. I know it’ll be hard, but I can handle it. And it’s not like all of my happiness is hanging on that. There are lots of things that aren’t dependent on Bucky, a lot of good things and a lot of things that are getting better. So. I’ll be fine.”

“Well then,” Sam says, “I believe you. And you know, even though I argued, I really, really hope you get everything you want.”

***

Steve wakes up early and just stays in his bed, listening to the calls of the morning birds from outside. The sounds in Wakanda are still strange to him, even after nine months there. He thinks it’ll never feel quite familiar to him, however long he has to stay. Still, on this particular morning he is at peace. He’d say he’s almost content, since he’s finally got things in order inside his head. There’s no longer the uncertainty, the not knowing what he wants is gone, and it makes a world of difference. Now it no longer feels like he’s fumbling his way in the dark, even if he should know his surroundings. Now he can see, and can deal with the difficult things. He’s finally confident enough to believe so.

He gets out of bed, showers, and dresses. He expects to be the first one up in the kitchen, but on his way he can smell fresh coffee. Nat is sitting curled up in one of the chairs, reading some book in Russian, a steaming mug by her elbow.

“If you were planning on coming here, you could have just flown in with Sam,” Steve says, pouring a mug for himself and trying to decide what he wants to eat. “When did you arrive anyway?”

“Late last night, after you’d gone to bed.”

“Sam’s still sleeping?” Steve asks, settling on yogurt, fruit and fresh bread.

Nat doesn’t answer, just quirks her mouth in a half-smile. They don’t really talk about it, neither she nor Sam, about what’s going on between them, and Steve doesn’t ask. He figures it’s not really his business, even if he’s glad to see they seem happy. He does occasionally mention it in a roundabout way, just to remind them that he isn’t blind.

Sometimes he wishes he was afforded the same privilege, that they didn’t always ask about his life, or try to meddle with it. Or worse, question his choices when they only have to do with him, not their larger circle. He knows full well that some of his choices probably do seem questionable to other people, and that Sam and Nat only do it because they care about him and want the best for him. It’s just tricky to explain sometimes that their ideas for what is best for him differ from his.

It is one of the things he’s always found refreshing in Wanda, that she doesn’t really question his choices when they only have to do with him. She might tell him she doesn’t see how it would work, or even that in her opinion he’s an idiot, but she doesn’t try to talk him out of what he’s decided. Steve tries to remember to return the courtesy with her. There is a difference between advice and orders and arguments, and he tries to maintain the balance with her.

This time too he’s fairly sure Nat was waiting to, if not ambush him, but at least catch him alone. After all, Sam would know that Steve is usually the one up first, and he has no doubt that the information has made it to Nat. The conversation during the breakfast is relaxed though, general catching up where Steve tells her about Wakanda and Nat talks about how Clint and his family get along. As usual, after breakfast Steve heads out to see Bucky, and Nat tags along. For all that Steve usually goes alone, he doesn’t mind her presence at all, and perhaps there they will get whatever she wants to talk about out of the way.

“You don’t talk to him?” Nat asks after they’ve been quietly sitting on the floor of Bucky’s room for five minutes.

It’s not really a surprising question; she knows that Steve has a habit talking to his mother when he visits her grave, and used to talk to Bucky too, back before he knew Bucky was in fact still alive.

“No,” he says. “It feels weird now. When I thought he was dead, I talked to him, because I believed he was still somewhere else. I just couldn’t see him. Here though, it’s not the same. Stasis is a pause, time has stopped for him. So it feels odd talking to him.” She lays a hand on his knee, and he continues, “Sometimes people ask me if I dreamed in the ice. I didn’t. It wasn’t like that. I lost consciousness, and I woke up, and it was like no time had passed at all. I was just gone.”

“So what do you do here? Please don’t say you just stare at him here every morning.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “To be fair, in the morning it usually is sort of that, although I don’t stay that long. In the evening I usually I write a journal for him. About what’s going on, since he’s not here to experience it. Some other things.”

“Are they making progress on the removal of the triggers?”

“It looks good, they think they are very close now. They have a method, and they are testing it on a simulation now. Of course, you can never be sure before it’s actually tried, but they think this is it.”

“So it should be soon.”

“Abeni said a few weeks at the most a couple of days ago. So yes, close.”

“What will you do after that, have you thought about it?” Nat asks, and Steve glances at her, since she should know the answer to that question. She shrugs in reply.

“I’ll keep doing what I do now, I’m not going to stop going after HYDRA. And what Bucky wants to do depends on him, of course.”

“But of course it affects you too. Sam said —” she begins and Steve grimaces.

“Oh did he now?” he asks, and doesn’t even try not sounding bitter. “Sometimes I’d like my personal life to not be everyone’s business.”

“It’s because we care about you, you know. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah, I know. But living life like that, avoiding all possible chances of getting hurt, I don’t know. Sounds like avoiding a lot of other things too to me.”

“Of course you can’t completely avoid pain. But this isn’t exactly a usual situation, you know,” she points out.

“No, but nothing in my life is like that. And you’re not telling me not to go after HYDRA either.”

“So you want to have every part of your life like that? Don’t you want stability?”

He feels like laughing and sighing at the same time. He knows what she’s doing, of course. Same as Sam the day before, she’s laying out all the possible negatives so that he’s sure to have thought about all of them. And he has, so far she hasn’t come up with anything he hasn’t yet thought about. There’s nothing that would change his mind.

“That’s kind of calculating, isn’t it? Deciding what you want out of life and following that plan, regardless of whether you’d be happier doing something else. I’m sure it works for some people, but I can’t live like that, Nat.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m just —”

“Making me think it through. I know what you’re doing, but go ahead, it won’t hurt. I don’t know if you’ll think it helped either when we’re done, but at least we get it out of the way.”

He grins at her and only halfheartedly tries to dodge the punch to his shoulder. It’s not hard anyway.

“Moving on then,” she says with a hint of a smile. “What do you expect? Because even if you say it depends on him, it’s not like he’s the only one in the equation here. Are you trying to get something back?”

“What do I expect? I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” She raises her eyebrow clearly disbelieving, and he continues, “I mean, there are things I hope for, but they are kind of vague. Because the only thing I’m sure of is how I feel, inside. I haven’t really even had time to figure out how it would go in practice between us, when it would be something more than occasional moments here and there. I’ll just have to see, I suppose. It’s always been like that anyway for us. Besides, there’s not much I’d like to get back, considering the way we went about it during the war. We never talked about it, and that’s something I don’t miss. Whatever we might end up being, I intend to be more open this time.”

Steve pauses for a moment and thinks, staring into air. “It was never easy for me to explain Bucky to people, or what we were to each other. We said it was best friends, because that was understandable to other people, but it was never accurate. Bucky was Bucky. Still is. That’s the only explanation I have. I know it’s not very satisfying.”

“You know he’s changed, right?” Nat asks, and Steve sighs. They’re really taking things all the way down to basics, but he probably shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Of course I know that. I spent time with him, I know he’s different. It just doesn’t matter. I’ve changed too, and he was always there.”

“But your change during the war was simpler. A good change. Something you wanted,” she points out.

“What I wanted, yes. Simpler than his, I grant you, but not simple in general. You know, a lot of people know about how the serum made me bigger and stronger, but don’t think any further than that. It changed all of me, down to the last cell. Everything afterward was different; I know I think differently from how I did before. Right after the procedure I looked into a mirror and it wasn’t just a stranger on the outside looking back at me, but also a stranger on the inside. It’s, well, I guess you’d know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says, looking down.

“So there was that, I was fairly lost for a long time. It was only when I found Bucky, even if he was out of it he knew me. That’s when I believed I was still me and not someone completely different. And when it comes to my change being a good thing, mostly for me, it was. But to Bucky? Maybe not, you know. He never straight up said it, but I know he didn’t much like it. Because I was there, on the front with him. And you know what that meant.”

“It meant that you’d most likely be dead by next week,” Nat says, clearly remembering their discussion from months earlier.

“Exactly. And the same went both ways, and I still asked him to come with me when I went after Schmidt. He should make his own choices this time too, I owe it to him not to try to force him into anything.”

“You know he wouldn’t have left even if you hadn’t asked. I mean, I don’t know much about him, of what kind of a person he was back then, but that I do.”

“I know. You see, I could have gotten him to go back home. I could have told Colonel Phillips he wasn’t fine, and they would have discharged him and he would have been on the way home regardless of what he wanted,” Steve says, grimacing at the idea.

“Bet he would have hated you.”

“He would have. But he would have been safe. On the other hand, I don’t know if I would have made it to the Valkyrie if he hadn’t been there with me along the way. It all could be different now. But it’s no use speculating. Back then I made the choice to not choose for him, only to ask, and he made his choice. That’s why I owe him. I’m not starting to make his choices for him now.”

“Well, that explains why you didn’t protest at all about him going under. I was wondering. Still, it feels like he’s running. He stayed away after Insight, and now he went under instead of trying any other way. Maybe you are willing to see how it all goes, but I don’t know about him. It feels like you’re setting yourself up for a heartbreak,” Nat says, frank and honest.

“I don’t know. This thing, part of it is just me, you know. Not conditional of him. And the rest, well, if I’m not willing to risk anything, then what is it worth? And even if he’s running now doesn’t mean he’ll run forever.”

“And how long will you wait for him?”

“Guess we’re going to see. Like I said, I haven’t even tried to figure out how it would work.”

They both fall silent, she’s apparently decided Steve won’t be swayed, and probably doesn’t like it much, but will let things go for now. Steve isn’t at all certain she won’t meddle once Bucky is awake, but that’s the bridge they will cross when they come to it. She’s grilled him for a while, though, and he figures he’s owed a few answers too. At least he can ask the questions.

“Are you going to tell me how you knew Bucky, besides that scar? When we were here Bucky called you Natalia, so that makes me think there was more.”

She’s quiet for a while. “Back when I was with the Red Room, they sometimes worked with HYDRA. I don’t know if Red Room was HYDRA, I hadn’t even heard about them before that first mission I was on, but we sometimes had joint operations. I met him then, twice. We worked well together, but I never got that close, there were always a bunch of handlers on the missions. From what I’ve been able to find out, he did less and less unsupported operations starting late nineties. He forgot me in between them. At first I thought it was just how he was, but by the end of the second mission I knew they did something to take the memories away.” Steve nods, and she adds, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“It’s okay, really. When you first told me, it wasn’t that relevant, since we didn’t know it was Bucky anyway. And later, well. I probably wouldn’t have taken it well at all, and that would have been wrong. It’s not my place to know anything more than you want to tell. I know it’s painful to go back.”

“That’s very considerate of you, especially since —”

“Since you do your best to drag out everything about me? I think we’re doing fine now, I can hold my own, and there are certainly lines I’m not so keen on being crossed.”

“Duly noted, Captain,” she says and gives him and over exaggerated salute.

***

The week after Nat arrives goes slower than Steve remembers time ever having passed. Sometimes when he was young and had to stay in bed due to some illness, weeks would feel like they took forever, since there was nothing he could do, pain his constant companion. Now it’s even worse.

He knows it’s because they’re close, close to having a solution to removing the triggers from Bucky’s head, and with that he’s close to being able to talk to Bucky again, to see him awake and responsive instead of the temporary illusion of death that comes with stasis. Steve’s waiting, as he has been for nine months now, and it’s been hard the whole time but now it’s almost unbearable.

HYDRA seems to have gone to ground too, and there’s almost no new information at all for them. All they can do is to wait also on that front. Part of Steve thinks it would help to have a mission to concentrate on. The rest of him, however small and resentful part, is relieved. If he’s honest to himself, and he’s taken a conscious effort to try to be, more than he’s used to, he’s not really in a suitable state to be going anywhere.

It means he runs in the mornings, trains with the Dora Milaje and some other Wakandan groups too, and tries to not think about how long the days feel. He sits on the floor in Bucky’s room, every morning and every night. He has the journal, but he tends to draw more than write, and the drawings aren’t really about any memories either. He doesn’t usually look at them after he’s finished. He tries to find a book to read, but nothing in the pile he’s accumulated catches his fancy. Every time he picks one up and sits down he feels too restless.

He spends even more time than usual at the training center, since Nat drags him there every afternoon, usually just when the day starts to feel like it should be over already and the sun still high up seems wrong. He knows she does it for his benefit, but it doesn’t mean it’s not good for them both. Sparring with her has always been exhilarating; she’s faster than just about anyone, so much so that him being stronger doesn’t mean much at all. In the beginning, right after New York, she beat him every time, in every way, since he hadn’t had too much time to concentrate on technique while in the war. It’s different these days, and now she can truly go all out with him the way she really can’t with almost anyone else and not have it be over in seconds. For Steve it’s relaxing, not having to worry about his strength and hurting his opponent, and that’s why sparring with her works well for clearing his head.

They’re at the gym, fighting with sticks, when the door bursts open and Wanda, out of breath, calls out his name. He sees she’s smiling when he turns to look at her, and for now he might as well be the one capable of reading thoughts. He knows exactly why she’s there.

The stick clatters from his fingers that have gone numb, and there are Nat’s hands, guiding him to sit down, to lean his head against his knees. He realizes he’s not breathing, and it’s silly, to be struck so hard by something he’s known was coming. He concentrates on drawing breaths, counting them in and out as he was taught so many years ago. Nat’s arms work around him, fiercely hugging him, and she’s whispering even if Steve can’t hear a word she says. All he understands is she’s happy for him, despite her reservations. Then there’s Wanda too, laughing and throwing her arms around the both of them.

Steve sits on the floor between them, letting them hug him and not caring that tears are soaking through the knees of this track pants.

***

That night they have dinner in the garden; Steve, Wanda, Nat, Sam, T’Challa, Shuri, Abeni, Uzoma and Okoye. The sun has set and the area is lit with tiny golden lights. Strange moths dance in the air, and occasionally a bird or bat swoops in to catch them. Steve is still in awe about the richness of plant and animal life in Wakanda. Just the day before some red flowers, that he needs to remember to ask the name of, had bloomed, and their scent is drifting in the air around them.

It is a celebratory dinner, all of them know it, but no one talks about it. No one mentions Bucky, but he’s still there, almost present, a specter among them. For the first time since Bucky went under Steve doesn’t feel like there is a hollow inside him, one that has followed him wherever he went, one that was there no matter what he did. Now it’s filled with waiting, because now he dares to wait, knowing that it’s almost at end.

They will talk about practicalities, methods and a time frame the next morning, and start preparations for waking Bucky up. It’s so close Steve counts it in hours rather than days until he sees Bucky again, and the time feels both short and an eternity. This night all of it is pushed away, and they are just eating, drinking and talking, spending time as a group.

It’s rare that both T’Challa and Shuri can be present, after all they have a whole nation to look after, and schedules full for months, if not years to come. Steve is always grateful when they find time to spend a meal with all of them, and even more grateful for the safe haven they’ve been offered, and the resources to cure Bucky.

He thinks back to that afternoon in Siberia, when he dragged himself out of the HYDRA stronghold, stumbling and both supporting Bucky and leaning on him. Seeing T’Challa was like ice in his veins, a fear that for all that they’d fought and sacrificed, they’d still go down. Instead they found safety, for all of them. It is a debt Steve can never repay.

After the meal they walk back to the castle, Steve next to T’Challa, and when he says, “Thank you,” trying to put everything he means in those two small words, T’Challa pauses and nods, his face serious. Steve thinks he understands what Steve has no words for.

 

* * *

 

##### Backward – Death

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was white. His cheek was resting on the cold snow bank, and more of it was falling down, big fat snowflakes from the sky. He tried to open his mouth, extend his tongue out to catch them. Only nothing seemed to work quite as it should have.

_Just open your mouth,_ he told himself. _It’s not that hard._

He was lying on the ground, the cold seeping into his bones, snowflakes melting on his cheeks and he didn’t know why. He couldn’t remember what had happened. There was only the pressing knowledge he should have been somewhere else, that he was needed somewhere else. Someone needed him.

Or was it the other way around?

He tried to look around, and he was sure he’d never done anything as difficult as trying to turn his head. He couldn’t even think about sitting up. He managed to look at himself, sort of. His hair was sticking to the ground and it stung at his scalp as he moved. It made his head just a bit clearer.

His blue jacket was dappled with snow, but he could see it was scuffed and torn the way he didn’t remember from before. The color stood out against the snow, there was really only a particular kind of shadow that hid it, but the blue was important. They were a team after all, he and Steve.

He wondered where Steve was, hoped he wasn’t down here wherever he was. He tried to think back, to push away the fog in his head. Why couldn’t he remember? Where had he last seen Steve? He should know. He always knew where Steve was, the only time he hadn’t was when he had shipped off to Europe, until that day Steve turned up having grown a foot taller.

It still felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream?

Maybe he was still on that table, hallucinating. He had hallucinated a winter, once. That terribly cold winter, when he’d been sixteen, nearly seventeen and Steve had almost died. He’d been back there, except it had never let up, it had gone on and on, and there was no way to keep the tiny place Sarah Rogers did her best to make a home warm enough.

He’d hallucinated standing on those streets, in the middle of that horrible winter, and he’d known Steve was dead. Except he wasn’t.

Steve had gotten better, shaken off the scarlet fever and pneumonia.

Steve had gotten bigger, and pulled him off that table.

Could he have imagined that?

Could he have imagined it all?

He drew a breath and pain slammed into him. He couldn’t tell where it hurt, because it was everywhere, in every muscle, in every bone of his body. He tried to raise his hand but couldn’t. Even the idea of trying to sit up made his stomach lurch.

The only thing he could concentrate on was his left arm. It felt different from all the rest of him, as if it was on fire, and he turned his head a bit more to look.

All he saw at first was all the red; the deep crimson on the white snow pooled and spattered around him. He couldn’t comprehend the rest. His left arm felt like it was on fire, except it wasn’t.

It wasn’t there at all.

He looked up, and there was the cliff, the mountain. Nothing was moving up there, but he remembered. Steve stretching his hand, the exact shade of brown of the glove for some reason clear in his head. The wind rushing in his ears, stinging his eyes. The screech of metal giving up.

Another scream in his throat, whisked away as soon as it left his lips.

He tried to scream now, but there was no air in his lungs, no voice to carry out.

He was cold, he was alone, and no one was coming.

Nothing could have survived the drop.

Maybe he hadn’t.

Maybe he was just waiting, waiting for them to decide where he belonged, waiting for them to come and get him.

He didn’t know how long he waited, only that the dusk fell, and with it the clouds moved away. The stars were bright like he remembered from his childhood in Indiana, before moving to New York where the city lights and the smoke from the factories obscured the sky much more. His breath misted in the air, making little clouds, meaning it was colder.

He should have been colder too, but he wasn’t. Not anymore.

It was beautiful, he thought, and maybe it was finally decided where he was headed. He heard voices, just barely, before his eyes closed and unconsciousness claimed him. It was peaceful, comforting.

When he woke up, he knew for sure he’d ended up in hell.

***

He woke up in a shadowy room under a low ceiling, strapped on a table. Every inch of him ached, and he didn’t know if he was too hot or too cold. He was freezing, shaking, and he was burning, sweat sticky on his skin.

He was naked, except for bandages here and there. Heavy layers over his left arm, or what was left of it anyway. He wondered when it was cut away, wondered how long he’d been unconscious, hallucinating. It was weirdly intricate, the dream he’d had. Like something out of stories he’d used to read before the war. A rag tag band of soldiers, taking on an impossibly strong foe and somehow winning, time and again.

There’d been a scientist, an engineer that came up with new tricks for them to take into field, and a pretty lady, capable and strong. He would have laughed if he remembered how to, because for some reason in his dream she’d had no time at all for him, outside of missions. It had all been strictly professional.

All she’d had eyes for had been Steve, who hadn’t been at all like Bucky remembered, but tall and strong, healthy and so full of life, body finally matching spirit. Of course, in that she hadn’t been all that different from Bucky, even if he didn’t want to admit it even to himself.

He wondered what had happened to Steve. He didn’t know how long he’d been held prisoner, and even before that, it had been a long time that he hadn’t gotten any letters. He wondered if Steve had work, if he was healthy. Winters were hard, and now he was all alone.

Nothing that Bucky could do about it, here as a prisoner, being poked and prodded and experimented on. He had no idea what they were aiming at, why they did what they did to him. There had been rumors about the Germans experimenting on people, and apparently Bucky had ended up their guinea pig. Now they’d graduated into taking his limbs.

He knew he was going to die here. He would have cried, but he didn’t know how to do that either anymore.

He drifted between states of consciousness, getting flashes of hot and cold at intervals. It must have been the fever, he thought. Getting a fever after being wounded was usually a certain death sentence, definitely if it wasn’t treated. Maybe they’d already decided that there was no use to keeping him alive anymore. Maybe that’s why no one came, because they were waiting for him to die.

He let his eyes close, let himself fall out of the pain, out of reality. He focused on something he remembered from his hallucinations. He felt vaguely ashamed of having thought up such a thing, using the memory of his friend like that, but it didn’t matter anyway. No one would ever know he’d dreamed of Steve’s hands on his skin. Steve’s hands even if it had been the imaginary Steve, and they’d been larger and stronger. Warm. That was the last thing he carried with him into darkness.

***

When he woke up his mind was clear and the fever broken. There were two men at the other end of the room arguing. They hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, and he stayed absolutely still, intent on learning as much as possible.

The only thing he learned was that they were Russians, but that meant a host of other things. The men exited the room, and he was left alone once more, with a myriad of heavy truths.

It hadn’t been a hallucination that Steve had grown tall and saved him.

It hadn’t been a hallucination that they’d fought HYDRA.

He’d fallen off the train, and now he was a prisoner of the Russians, one arm missing, but otherwise he seemed to be healing fine.

He wondered how long he’d been a prisoner already. He remembered not being able to move at all, lying down in the ravine. Now, as he flexed his muscles, there were twinges but he thought everything was working. Surely to heal that much should have taken months.

Except, there was the reason he even was here, the reason he’d survived the unsurvivable. There was the fire in his veins that he’d wondered about, how alcohol had barely any effect on him these days, how he could see better than he used to, how he didn’t get tired as easily as he should have. How he’d suddenly been able to take shots that should have been impossible.

Zola must have done something to him, before Steve got to him. He’d known it, but he’d never told anyone, had tried to not even think about it. It meant he’d survived, but it also meant no one knew he could.

There was the clearest truth of all; no one was coming for him.

He’d have to escape himself, or make them kill him. Those were the only options. Either he’d make it, or he’d die, and no one would be any wiser, since they already thought him dead. It wouldn’t be any bigger blow for Steve.

He started pulling at the straps, and after a while felt them starting to give way.

***

The little cell they held him in was dark all the time, windowless. The door was made of wood reinforced with steel, and there was a small opening through which his meals were provided. No one had come into the cell in a long time, they’d learned that it only meant broken bones for them.

He couldn’t help but wonder why they kept him alive. If it was for ransom, surely the decision must have come already. His hair and beard had crown long, which meant it really must have been months now. No one had asked him anything, he hadn’t been interrogated for information. He’d been patched up, not very well but enough for him to survive. He was given food to keep him alive, and when he’d stopped eating for a while he’d been tied down and force fed until his strength was back up.

He hadn’t been killed, and he hadn’t been able to make them kill him.

He hadn’t managed to escape either. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something, and Bucky waited as well, without knowing what. He knew it couldn’t be anything good.

Finally there were sounds from beyond the door, more than just the one person bringing food. He crouched against the far wall, ready to spring, eyes directed down. They were always smart, pointed lights right at him to blind him, relying on him not being used to it after spending for however long it had been in the darkness.

The door opened and he counted the men coming in. Ten at least, not that it mattered. The first one at the reach of his arm went down, the next three took kicks and blows, but there were too many. He took blows from batons and butts of guns, and no one did him the favor of shooting him. Finally he went down under the weight of blows and bodies, and the last thing he knew before darkness was a prick of a needle at his neck.

***

He woke up in a different cell, brightly lit this time. There were heavy cuffs around his remaining wrist and both ankles, restricting his movements and chaining him to the wall. He barely noticed them though, all he had eyes for was the man sitting behind the table at the other side of the cell, safely away from reach.

Zola hadn’t changed at all since Bucky had last seen him. He wanted to rush at the man, to crush his head against the floor, but he knew it was no use. The chains holding him were too strong. So he waited, and he didn’t like at all the smile Zola had on his face.

“I’ve come to bring you news, since I imagine you don’t much get those down here.”

Zola paused, but Bucky didn’t react at all.

“You’ll be pleased to know that the Allied have won the war. Schmidt is gone, and HYDRA is in hiding.”

Bucky held still. He knew there were bad news ahead. He knew this tactic all too well; tell something good, make the other person get off their guard.

“However, this will not have much impact to your situation. Everyone knows you’re dead, no one will come to look for you. HYDRA is hiding but not gone, as you see, and we’ll be able to do whatever we please with you.”

It was harder to keep unresponsive, even if he’d known this it still was a hit to get a confirmation. And he wanted to ask about Steve, wanted to know about him more than anything, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let out his weak spots like that. Turned out Zola knew anyway.

“And then there’s this,” Zola said, getting up from his chair to step closer but not close enough. He threw a newspaper in front of Bucky, and it took a minute to parse the meaning.

_Sacrifice and victory._

_Captain America presumed dead; German surrender imminent._

He read the headlines over and again, but they kept saying the same thing. Steve was gone. They’d won, but Steve was gone.

Except, this was exactly the kind of thing they’d want him to believe, regardless of truth.

“It’s easy to fake a newspaper,” Bucky snarled, surprised at how raspy his voice came out.

Zola just smiled his nasty smile, and that was really the moment Bucky’s body knew it was the truth. His brain hadn’t quite caught up, but his body knew. He began to shake.

“I thought you’d say so, which is why I have this.”

Zola waived his hand, and a sound filled the room, a recording of people reading Steve’s eulogies. There was the president and Senator Brandt, but there were also Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark, and Dugan. That finally brought it home. No one could have faked those, not with the details provided.

There was a noise in Bucky’s ears, he heard that Zola kept talking, but he couldn’t understand a word. He knew he wasn’t breathing properly, knew he was pulling at the chains and screaming. There were black and bright splotches in his vision, and finally he knew nothing at all.

***

When he came to, it was a return to familiar in a way he had never wanted to experience again. He was strapped onto a table, and this time the restraints were strong enough to hold him. There were bright lights overhead, and a few people in lab coats moving around him. Zola was there too, still smiling his nasty smile.

“Back with us, Sergeant Barnes? They said you were close to the Captain, but I didn’t quite expect it to break you like that. Now what would you give to see him again? But you are ours now.”

Bucky found that he did still have it in him to laugh, even if it was short and feral. “You may have me under your power, but I don’t belong to you. I’ll never belong to you. And now at least I’ll never have to see him here, strapped on a table like this. He’s out of your reach.”

Zola’s expression tightened, and Bucky knew the hit had landed. Zola had always wanted to get his version of serum to work, and the best example of one like it was Steve. Bucky would have bet Zola would have given a lot to get his hands on Steve, but it was never to happen, and Bucky clung to the knowledge. It was the only fraction of peace he had left.

“Get to work,” Zola said to the other people scurrying around, and there was only pain.

***

(He would go on to live for decades and decades, much longer than he ever had thought possible, but he would never again be afraid of dying.)


	3. It Begins, It Has An End

#####  Forward – Waiting

Objectively nothing has changed in the room Bucky’s cryostasis machine is in since Steve was there the previous day. Yet, everything has felt different to him ever since Wanda brought the news that they were ready for the trigger removal. For the months since Bucky went under, there lingered a sense of waiting in the room, one that was static and unsure. There was no knowing when the wait would be over, and thus it had felt eternal. There had been the lingering possibility that it would actually end up being eternal, even if Steve always pushed that thought away.

In the end, it lasted for nine months. It’s March, and Steve still thinks of it as the beginning of spring even though the climate in Wakanda doesn’t much vary from season to season. There is still an atmosphere of waiting in the room for now, but it tastes different; purposeful. Now he knows exactly when the wait will end.

The lights in the room are on low, casting soft shadows around. They are usually like that, and Steve has always found it comforting, knowing Bucky hasn’t spent his time in darkness, even if Bucky himself wouldn’t know. The chamber’s glass wall is still frosted in intricate patterns through which Steve can see Bucky is unchanged as always; features neutral, eyes closed, and ice crystals formed in his eyelashes and hair. The display next to the machine shows that the functions are still nominal, the temperature is stable and no exceptions have occurred. During the past months Steve has learned to read all the data.

Everything is as it has been for months, but it won’t be like that for long now. The preparations to bring Bucky out of the stasis are nearly complete, and soon enough the room will be full of people. Steve sits down on the floor to wait. 

He knows this is the riskiest part of the procedure. Much like in flying, where takeoff and landing are the riskiest times, here the freezing and defrosting are the phases when things are most likely to go wrong. Uzoma, Abeni and Helen have all reassured him that the chance of anything unexpected happening is minimal, and that in any case they are prepared if something does happen. And this has been done to Bucky several times before, Steve reminds himself, feeling his lips curl with distaste at the thought. It’s fully documented that Bucky can take the cryostasis process without lasting effects. Still, all of it cannot wipe out the worry, but Steve has learned to live with it.

It is an odd feeling, knowing what’s going to happen, and yet not. He knows they will wake Bucky up, let him recover from the aftereffects of being frozen, and when Bucky is ready they will go through the procedure of removing the triggers. Steve knows everyone is highly confident it will work, and that’s the part that’s easier to convince himself to not worry about. He tries not to think about the time after, because there really is no use since he has absolutely no idea of what will happen.

He has hopes, but no knowledge. During the months Bucky has spent in stasis Steve has had time to sort out everything, to think back to their history and lives. He’s really looked into what Bucky truly means to him, and how their history reflects it. The conclusion was eye opening, even when it wasn’t really a surprise to him. The knowledge that he loves Bucky has in a way always been there, in the background, but he’s never consciously thought about it. He hasn’t dared. 

Now though, Steve feels comfortable in knowing what it really means that Bucky is the most important person in his life. Now he knows it is much more intricate and complex than he ever thought it was, and in a way simpler too, now that he admits it to himself. But this is only him.

Bucky though, Steve doesn’t know Bucky these days. Not really. There were only a few short days that Steve actually spent with Bucky since learning he was alive. It feels much longer, since there haven’t been many days in the past three years that Steve hasn’t thought of Bucky, but the actual time spent together, that isn’t too much to go with. Steve still knows some things, there are aspects to them that are easy as ever, and when it comes to some other things Bucky is so different that Steve feels like he’s losing balance.

Because he doesn’t truly know Bucky, he can’t predict what Bucky will want to do now. They never talked about it beyond getting the triggers cleared from Bucky’s head. Other than that, Steve has no frame of reference. What he hopes is that he can get to know this new Bucky, and that they will find a way to fit into each other’s lives again. There is a part of him that hopes they will find a way to fit closer than they ever did, but those are the kind of thoughts he steps on every time. They feel too selfish to hope for, to fragile to last even contemplation. 

Realistically, he knows that Bucky may well not want to stay with Steve at all. Bucky lived for two years in Europe, never trying to contact him. Even if they worked well together, became closer again during the few days after the attack in Vienna, Steve knows it was due to necessity, and that he shouldn’t take it as an indicator of what will happen now. Bucky might want to go back to living away from everything that reminds him of his past, and if he does, Steve will let him. 

It will be hard if it comes to that, but Steve has come to a conclusion that he just has to deal with it. He won’t be one to keep Bucky from living his life the way he wants, the way he deserves after decades of imprisonment and torture.

***

The lights are fully on as the final preparations to begin the defrosting process are on the way. There are more sensors and devices than Steve knows how to name, and several technicians are moving back and forth in addition to Uzoma and Abeni that are supervising the procedure. The atmosphere in the room is busy but not tense, and it calms Steve down, since it means everyone knows what they’re supposed to do. 

Finally everyone but the non-essential personnel leave the room and the lights are dimmed again. They don’t really know how Bucky will react once his consciousness is back. Before going under Bucky said that there always was a period of disorientation and confusion after the thaw, although they don’t know how different it will be now that there hasn’t been a mind wipe. Still, they make sure the room is as calming and relaxing as possible, and Steve’s presence is to make sure that if the confusion leads to aggression, nothing bad happens. Not that he’d agree to wait outside anyway. There shouldn’t be a problem, they all know that it will take a few hours for Bucky to regain full mobility after regaining consciousness, and by that time the confusion should be lessened as well.

Finally everything is ready, and Uzoma looks at all of them for confirmation nods before he starts the defrosting process.

It feels like it takes ages, and Steve feels every last one of his muscles tense as they wait. The temperature in the chamber slowly rises and the frost on the glass clears. Bucky is as still as he has been, and now that he’s no longer visibly frozen the immobility is unnerving. Steve makes note of the data a technician reads in one part of his mind, aware that everything is going as planned, but otherwise keeps his focus on Bucky. 

Suddenly there is a beep from the heart monitor, indicating pulse. For the first few seconds Bucky’s heart rate is uneven, faltering, but soon it steadies into something close to Steve’s. A few more seconds and Bucky visibly draws breath and his lashes flutter when he fights to gain consciousness. The glass opens with a slight pneumatic hiss and Steve has stepped forward before he realizes doing so.

 

* * *

 

#####  Backward – Falling

Sometimes Bucky found himself thinking that maybe they’d all make it through after all. It had been more than a year since he’d focused his gaze to find Steve pulling him off Zola’s table, tall and strong, changed and not at all. After that, they’d gone through two difficult winters and a slightly less difficult summer. They’d taken on HYDRA with this ragtag team of theirs, and they’d come through every time. 

They hadn’t won every battle, but enough to slow Schmidt down, and against all odds they were all still there, alive on the mountainside. 

It was Bucky’s turn to keep watch, and instead of staying near the face of the mountain among the few trees that offered shelter, he was crouching on the edge, a shadow against the white snow, looking toward the train tracks below. The cable they’d rigged up the day before hung above him, disappearing into the dark. The wind was sharp, almost cutting on his cheeks, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t waver.

Steve could move more quietly now, despite his bulk. Back in New York he used to make his presence known, to make sure he couldn’t be ignored. Now he didn’t have to, everyone saw him anyway, and that had somehow made him tone his attitude down a little bit. Bucky still knew he was up, had known when he woke. If asked, he couldn’t have said how he knew, since the wind in his ears meant he couldn’t hear it. Maybe it was the same instinct that used to wake him up when Steve was having trouble breathing. Or maybe it was the same thing that meant he could see better than he should have, meant he could take shots nigh impossible and succeed every time.

He pushed that thought away just as he always did. It didn’t help to wonder what had happened to him when he lay on Zola’s table. Especially now that they were going after the man himself.

If Bucky never had to see Zola again, it would have been too soon, but he went where Steve went, and this was the mission now, the one that could change the war for them. It was high time the Allied had some luck.

He rose to his feet when Steve came next to him. It wasn’t too unusual for Steve to be up during other watches; he needed less sleep these days. He tended to be up during Bucky’s watches more often than the others’, though, and sometimes Bucky gave him shit about it, suggested it looked like Steve didn’t trust him to keep vigilant. Steve never even deigned to acknowledge it, dismissing it so thoroughly. It was light and easy ribbing, something to try and get a rise out of Steve just for the fun of it, even if it didn’t work.

There were other things that had sharper edges, things that Bucky said and meant as jokes, and he hoped Steve took them as such. It was only when they came out of his mouth that Bucky noticed they cut him from inside.

Steve’s face was shadowed, but Bucky knew exactly the expression he was wearing when he pulled Bucky’s hands in his, warming them. Steve was radiating heat these days, but not the way he did during the fevers before the war. This heat was steady and reassuring, and during the winters on the field everyone wanted to sleep next to Steve. Now Steve’s hands were rubbing Bucky’s, almost scorching on his cooled skin.

They didn’t talk about it, ever, the new kind of closeness they’d found after they were reunited in Austria. Sometimes it looked like Steve might have wanted to say something, but Bucky always dodged it, and determinedly changed the topic. In all honesty, he didn’t see what there was to talk about. It happened, but this was the war and everything was different. A lot of things happened that wouldn’t otherwise. And if they made it out, things would change again. It didn’t mean anything, there was nothing that needed to be talked about.

It still was the only good thing Bucky had in among all the horror they went through every day, knowing what Steve’s hands on his skin felt like. Bucky knew it, but he didn’t have any illusions about what could and what couldn’t be. There was no need to open any doors by putting words on it. He didn’t even have any hopes on nights like this, when he wasn’t fully convinced he was going to die here on the old continent. They might make it out, and things would be different, not what he’d hoped to find coming back when he’d boarded the ship to Europe.

Back then he’d been determined to do his duty, he’d signed up because it was the right thing to do and it was something he knew he could do. It hadn’t been for him like it had been for Steve, there hadn’t been the kind of fire burning in him, but he’d still done his best. He’d paid attention, he’d been promoted, and he’d shipped out, hoping to come back after a victory to live with his best friend again, then try to figure out their lives from then on. Find some nice girl to marry, live next door to Steve as long as they both lived, maybe.

Later he’d seen the horrors of war, and had come to realize that the likelihood of making it back was small, but he’d still hoped. Then there’d been Zola, and he’d stopped hoping at all. He’d known then he’d die here on foreign soil, and he’d carried that knowledge with him when they’d marched back to base, all of them following Steve and his ridiculous blue helmet.

And now, here he stood, thinking that maybe, just maybe they’d make it through after all. He had no idea at all what would happen then, what would happen if they won and made it. He knew the army wouldn’t just let Steve go. Steve had been flippant about it, talking about the procedure and how he technically belonged to the government, but Bucky knew it had far more reaching consequences, and it made him feel uneasy. And it wasn’t as if Steve didn’t know, it just was that Steve considered it worth it, to be able to be here and fight in the war.

Most likely after the war Steve would stay active, fight other wars, because Bucky had no illusions about humanity. There would always be another reason to fight. And he had meant it when he’d said he’d follow the kid from Brooklyn who wouldn’t run away from a fight.

The next day, as he was hanging from the rusty and creaking railing at the side of the train, he knew that was it. Even as he reached for Steve’s hand, he knew the time had come for what he’d known would happen. Right then all he wanted was one more day, one more hour even. One more chance to have Steve’s hands on him, to feel that peace, the inability to focus on anything else. The chance to forget everything horrible.

Steve was calling for him, his hair whipping in wind, and the screech of the metal was the final thing Bucky heard. He was screaming, weightless in the fall, losing sight of the train and Steve who curled against the wall, barely hanging on. Not falling, and Bucky wanted to thank someone, but he didn’t know who. 

Bucky lost consciousness before he hit anything, the shock carried him away, and the last thing he knew was the wind, cutting on his cheeks…

 

…and freezing the tears on Steve’s skin. He gripped the edge of the train, unable to look, because looking would make it real. And it couldn’t be real. Bucky was supposed to be there, always. That was the one thing he’d known ever since the kid with messy hair had helped him up after he’d gotten into a fight with three kids bigger than him.

The train sped into a tunnel, and there was nothing left to see, even if he were to look.

The next days and weeks felt all unreal. Steve went through the motions; doing everything to get his team with Zola first back to the Allied territory and then to base, the waiting after and their mission against Schmidt. He felt like he was numb all the time, and it was because he forced himself to be so, forced himself to withdraw. Otherwise the pain would have overwhelmed him.

There was an aspect of it that was familiar, something he’d thought he’d never have to experience again. Back when he was small and frail, when the illness came he’d push it away, to the back of his head as much as he could, because it was the only way to deal. Now he was doing the same thing, only this time there was no cure. He knew it would become easier, the pain less sharp with time. It had happened with his mother too. 

Only the pain being lessened wouldn’t change the fact that Bucky and his mother were gone, never to return.

Back when his mother died, Bucky had been there, the one light in Steve’s otherwise pitch black life. Now, Steve had other lights; he had his purpose, he had people’s respect, he had his team. He had Peggy. It all didn’t change the fact that everything seemed dimmed now that Bucky was gone, the one certainty he’d known for years turning out to not be true after all.

There were moments, only a few of them, when he let himself feel it, all the pain ripping his heart apart. Back in London after passing Zola forward and handing in his report, he slipped away from the concerned gazes of his team mates after making sure with Dum Dum and Falsworth that someone would keep company with Gabe, who felt responsibility heavy on his shoulders too for being on the train even though he’d done exactly what he was supposed to.

The failure was Steve’s alone.

He found himself back in the bar where their team had first formed. It was deserted now, broken and bombed out, and if that didn’t feel like a perfect metaphor for what had happened Steve didn’t know what did. For more than a year Steve had carried the exchange he’d had with Bucky in his heart, about how Bucky would follow him and not Captain America. It had meant everything to him that Bucky had still seen him and not the stranger Steve himself saw in the mirror every day.

There was a table, and a chair that still could hold his weight even if it was slightly precarious. There was also a bottle of some whiskey and even an unbroken glass near the counter. Steve dusted it out the best he could and sat down.

He knew before he started that drinking wouldn’t do anything; they’d tried it during the summer, and all he’d managed to get was a little buzz that was gone fifteen minutes later. Still, he poured the liquid into the glass and drank, pretending the burn in his throat came from the alcohol.

Then he stopped pretending and let the tears fall.

Peggy found him less than an hour later, when Steve still hadn’t run out of tears. For a second he thought of hiding them and just didn’t. It didn’t surprise Steve that she was the one to come, or that she’d known exactly where to look for him. They’d only had a fairly small amount of time to spend together, and most of that had been work, but she still knew him, perhaps better now than anyone on Earth. And he was grateful for her presence, for her steady calm and compassion. He’d been lucky for the second time, he thought, finding her. The first time had been Bucky, the second time her, and he didn’t know if it was too much for one to be that lucky, to have to pay the price like he had.

She understood him, she said exactly the right things that night. Steve knew it was true that Bucky had been his own man, had made his choice. It didn’t change the fact that Steve would regret it for the rest of his days. It didn’t change the fact he knew he should have been just a little faster, paid more attention, reached farther. 

Bucky should still be here in London with them, and it was Steve’s fault he wasn’t.

Steve wrapped the pain in his heart back up tight when it was time to plan for the mission. He looked into his mirror that morning, and the man looking back was yet again someone he didn’t know. 

Planning came easy; it helped to concentrate on details and goals. It helped to shove the hurt inside him deeper away. The plan they came up with was risky, but then everything they did was. And they had no time.

In the end, on the plane he knew there was nothing for it but to put it down, no way to try and steer it back to where they came from. It wouldn’t turn from its course, and the only thing Steve could control was the altitude. 

It was easy to choose down.

The icy north filled his windshield as he spoke to Peggy, the white ice and the occasional opening of dark blue water. Since it was his time to go, he was glad it was at the sea, in a way it felt like coming home. He’d spent hours and hours looking at the sea when he was younger, wondering what was on the other side. Now he’d seen some of it, but the sea still held a kind of peace for him unlike nothing else.

He spoke to Peggy about their promise to go dancing, which he knew he wouldn’t keep. He let go of the controls, and the plane kept going down and down. He didn’t need to do anything else.

He stayed in the seat.

The last thing he saw was the sun reflecting off the snow like a field of a million diamonds. He closed his eyes, closed his fist around his compass, and reminded himself there was someone he needed to see.

 

* * *

 

#####  Forward – Waking

There is pain and cold, every single one of his limbs feels distant, his chest constricted, and drawing the first breath hurts as if it’s fire he’s breathing in, not air. There’s a ringing in his ears, there are voices but as if heard from under water. His eyes are useless. He doesn’t remember anything from before waking up.

It is a familiar feeling; he’s gone through it all countless times before.

He knows what will come next, even if he couldn’t tell how he knows. The restraints will come off, and there’ll be rough hands to drag him away. There’ll be poking and prodding and bright lights. There’ll be other restraints, pinning him down, over his head and there’ll be pain that will take everything away, even when he has nothing to begin with. Only thing that’ll stay will be the cold. It never leaves him.

He knows what will happen, and he tries to summon the strength to fight it, to protest, to do something, but there’s nothing. His limbs are still far away.

The restraints come off and he’d fall without the hands coming to steady him, just like he knew. Except they don’t pull at him, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to expect. He’s gently lifted from the ground, as if he were still a child. His face is tucked against someone’s neck, the skin almost scorching against Bucky’s own, and still he wants to press against it, to sink into the heat. The person carrying him says something; he can feel the vibrations on his skin but still can’t make out the words.

He’s lowered onto a soft bed and wrapped in blankets. He’s beginning to warm up, and the ringing in his ears is going down. There are human voices, speaking low all around him. He tries opening his eyes again, and at first he thinks he’s still not seeing right, but very soon works out it’s just that the lights are low. A tall man comes to his right, taking a hold on his wrist. He’s got an IV needle in his hand, and instinct makes Bucky try and pull away, to get up.

There is a gentle pressure on his shoulders, stopping him, but it doesn’t feel restraining. Soft, familiar voice speaks, “Shh Bucky, wait. It’s okay, we just need to get you hydrated and warmed back up. You’re safe here.”

Bucky looks up to see Steve on his left, hands still lightly holding him on the shoulders. Of course it’s Steve, he doesn’t know anyone else that could lift and carry him so easily, he thinks as his memories become trickling back in. He lets himself relax back down, and Uzoma secures the IV and hooks a sensor on his finger. It’s Wakanda, he’s safe and he’s awake. Looking around, nothing seems to have changed.

“How long?” Bucky whispers, his voice still rusty and throat hard to work around the words.

Steve offers him a drink from a straw, and says, “Around nine months. Drink slowly, so you can keep it down.” He lets Bucky take a few more sips before putting the glass down, and continues, “They found a way to remove the triggers.”

Bucky didn’t expect the news, even if just the fact that he’s been woken up should have been an indicator. Still, the overwhelming relief leaves him reeling, shaking in his bed. He’s suddenly exhausted even if he only just woke up, and he drifts into sleep.

***

When he wakes up again, it must be a few hours later. He’s still in the hospital bed, the screen next to him displaying his heart rate. Steve is sitting on a chair next to the bed, the tablet in his hand illuminating the slight smile on his face.

“I hope you’re still not reading Proust,” Bucky says, and Steve looks up, his smile widening.

“No, this is called  _ The Master and Margarita, _ it’s by a Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov. You’d like it, the humor is about as black as you take your coffee.”

“Yeah? And why do you like it?” Bucky asks, relaxing more into pillows. He’s not in a hurry to go anywhere yet.

“I appreciate satire, you know,” Steve says, mock offended.

“I know, but you don’t smile like that to satire.” 

It’s one of those things that Bucky just knows without knowing how, and Steve’s eyes crinkle at corners with his widening smile.

“You know what, read it and then you tell me.”


	4. This Is What You Will Come Back To

#####  Backward – The Second Winter

Sometimes Steve found it hard to remember how long he’d fought in the war. The days blurred into each other, and it felt like both long and short time all at once. As if it had been years, or just days since he jumped out of Howard’s plane under fire, hoping they’d miss his parachute.

There had been many missions after that, but they blurred into each other, even now that Steve’s memory was better than it had used to be. If he concentrated, he could call up the procession of their time, could remember each mission, almost each individual day. Most of the time he didn’t bother, because what mattered was the now, and what they were aiming for, not the past missions. What kept them alive was being aware of their surroundings any given moment.

It had been late fall when he pulled Bucky off the table at the weapons factory in Austria, and they’d had to figure out their team and what they wanted to with the Howling Commandos right in the middle of the winter. That first winter had been hard, but they’d made it through, everyone was still standing. They all had more scars, even Steve who healed way faster than anyone else, and the shadows in their eyes were deeper, but the team was more solid than ever, united in their goal to rid the world of Schmidt and HYDRA.

It was their second winter now, and things didn’t seem to be getting any better. It was one difficult slog, and even though they won battles, it didn’t feel like they were making any significant dent to their enemies’ resources or determination.

Peggy kept track of their process and coordinated their missions with the command. Talking to her was often the only thing that helped Steve regain the perspective, to see that they were making progress, even if it was hard to notice sometimes. It was a relief to have someone like her in the team. Sometimes she was on the field, but mostly she stayed with the command, with Colonel Phillips and handled the big picture. Steve knew he could trust her implicitly to take care of her end of the job, which allowed him to go on missions and fully concentrate on the task at hand without having to worry about something going awry at the base while they were gone.

Still, it was difficult sometimes to find a break in the monotony. Steve thought it probably was an odd thing to consider war a monotony, especially among the team that had the most dangerous missions of all and nearly died pretty much every day, but it still felt like a kind of monotony inside his head. It felt like they’d settled into it, and whatever progress they made, the end still didn’t seem to be any nearer.

Sometimes he lay on the bedroll, awake even if they had precious little time to sleep anyway, and wondered how much longer it could last. At the rate they were going, probably not too much longer, but it didn’t necessarily mean the war would be over. It might just change its shape, and go on and on. They were doing what they could to end HYDRA, but even if they managed to do that, there were still the rest of the German forces and their allies, not to mention the whole Pacific side of things, and there wasn’t much Steve’s small team could do about that.

It was hard, but not all of it was horrible, because even in war there were brighter moments. Since everything was so difficult, they instinctively clung to every possibility for a little relief. Steve well understood why his team mates drank whenever they had a moment to pause, why they found the bars and were loud and boisterous. They were moments to be something else among all the concentration, among the life where every moment could be their last.

Steve didn’t even have that, since alcohol didn’t do anything for him these days. Sometimes he thought of how ironic it was that he’d gone from not being able to enjoy alcohol due to his ailments to right over on the other side, able to drink all he wanted but not feeling anything. He still drank with his team, but usually very little, savoring the taste because it was the only thing he got from it.

He certainly didn’t get a reprieve from his thoughts, from the missions and plans and worries circling in his head.

There were moments when it was a bit easier. Sometimes back at the base when he sat and talked with Peggy, he found himself able to let go and just enjoy her presence. He knew he loved her, and it scared him sometimes how much he did, all the possibilities in it. And at the same time, all it made him want to do was to plunge right into it, to grasp it and not let go. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met, she’d seen him before the serum, and Steve knew she kept seeing him, not Captain America. It was one of the greatest treasures he had, because these days there  were only two people like that. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so happy that they both were in the war with him, but he was.

There were some few precious moments when Steve could just relax and be enthralled by Peggy, by her quick wit, by the fall of her hair, by her thoughtful intelligence and sparkling temper, by the curve of her red lips and her sense of humor. They were perfect moments, but as time passed, they got more and more rare. 

As the war progressed, Steve spent less time at the base, and when he was there, most of the time he and Peggy had chance to be alone together was over paperwork. She handled most of it for him, but there still was a lot they needed to do together, and he needed to sign stacks and stacks of reports and forms. It was still enjoyable, spending time with her since she was so competent, but it was all about the war, and he couldn’t just let go then. The times when they could just relax were getting rarer and rarer.

All Steve could do was to trust in her, and in them, and to wait. This was what they both wanted to do; to win this war, and there was no space for them to be more than colleagues for now. There was the barely alluded to promise between them, and Steve hung onto that, trusted in it, and worked and waited while Peggy did the same.

Their time would come after the war. He had to believe in that.

***

There were other moments, times when Steve was high on adrenaline, be it after winning or just surviving, because sometimes you had to take that as it was the only thing handed to you that day. There were times when he needed to let go, needed to forget for a moment. And he could, because he wasn’t the only one needing it.

After Austria Bucky had been there with Steve every step of the way, had gone through every victory, every defeat, every scare and every survival by the skin of their teeth, and sometimes, after it all had been bottled down for too long, it wasn’t odd that it would all flood over.

They found moments of privacy away from prying eyes, and it was always rough and frantic, pressing into each other, hands yanking at clothes, leaning on a tree or a wall, grinding hips together seeking friction, hands on bare skin, foreheads leaning against each other, breathing the same air. They were perfect moments, rare as they were and rarer still as the war stretched on, the moments when there was nothing but Bucky, nothing else that mattered for a few precious minutes, until their breathing had steadied back to normal, after the wall they were leaning to had become uncomfortable again.

They never kissed, because it wasn’t like that.

***

It had been almost a year and a half since Steve had received the serum, and more than a year since he had made it to the front and the Howling Commandos had been formed, and still Steve sometimes surprised himself with what he could do. Most of the time he went by instinct, tried to not think too much about it and everything went well. Sometimes though, he found himself almost as if staring from outside in, looking at what he was doing, and it was always a shock.

Sometimes it was still hard to reconcile what was possible, because he had three layers in his head; what he used to be able to do, what he knew regular healthy young men could do, and now what he could do as a result of the serum. He also knew he was still stretching his limits, he still hadn’t found them, because there wasn’t really an occasion to test them. There was no time, and the only way he tested them was by being backed into a corner, having to run faster or jump longer, find more strength or survive something else. He always managed, and it made him wonder how much else was there to him, and whether he would ever find out.

Truth was though, even regular humans, without any serum at all, were capable of doing amazing things. Even more so in an environment like theirs where not succeeding meant dying or watching someone else die.

Sometimes Steve saw Bucky in the battle, looking faster or stronger than he thought a non-enhanced human should have been. Sometimes he thought that Bucky had almost preternatural reflexes, or that he could take shots that should have been impossible, and were for everyone else. Not for Bucky though.

One time, after there had been another all too close shave, and Bucky had survived only by his reflexes, Steve pulled him back to his feet. They were far from clear still, but Steve felt easier, knowing all the while that it was dangerous, invited mistakes.

He drew a breath, trying to focus.

“Sometimes it almost feels like there’s two of us. Enhanced, I mean,” he said, easy and joking.

“God forbid, one is bad enough,” Bucky replied, and his voice was light as usual, but Steve caught the tightness in his eyes.

It seemed odd, the deflection and tightness, and for a moment Steve was sure something was wrong, but he didn’t have time to pursue it, since there was a new wave of enemies. The fighting was tough for several more hours, but they pulled through, Bucky a solid presence at his back.

When they were done, Steve might have asked, if he hadn’t been distracted from any kind of talking the moment they were alone with Bucky.

***

As a result of growing up together, even if it hadn’t been in the same house, Steve and Bucky had talked about everything before the war. There had never been an awkward period between them; they had grown and changed together, and even if they at 24 and 25 hadn’t been the same they were at 14 and 15, or even earlier, it hadn’t mattered.

One thing that had always been the same was that they were best friends, they’d never grown apart.

They were still best friends, but during the months they’d been apart after Bucky had shipped out they’d both changed, and now they didn’t quite fit together as tight as they’d used to anymore, even after spending another year together again. 

Steve wondered if it would ever be the same again, even if he knew the answer to that. He knew it wouldn’t be exactly the same, they’d gone through too much, but he kept wondering if there was a possibility for it to be easy like it had used to be. He wondered if they ever would fit together seamlessly again. These days he still trusted Bucky with more than he did anyone else, whether it was his life or his very soul. That part hadn’t changed. Steve just missed the times when he didn’t have to stop and consider whether he could say something to Bucky, whether it would make things odd, like some topics these days did.

As it was, there were things they very decidedly didn’t talk about, and their adrenaline fueled moments of getting each other off were right on top of that stack. They’d never said a word about it, they just happened, and they didn’t change anything. Nothing was awkward between them.

Steve didn’t know what they meant, couldn’t even decide it inside his own head why he’d just known that first time that it was what they both wanted. He wasn’t even sure why they continued despite the risks, despite everything else. It was something he couldn’t work out just for himself, it was too tangled up in Bucky, and they didn’t talk about it at all. Sometimes Steve thought he might take it up, but it was as if Bucky was capable of reading his mind, and Steve could have just as well read Bucky’s. It was clear as day that Bucky didn’t want to talk.

Maybe that was it; it was the war, the rush, and the danger, all rolled up in one and the only way to get away from it was through someone else. And when there was no one else they trusted more, it was logical to do this together too. If that was the case, it would end as the war ended, and there was nothing else to it, no need to talk about anything.

It was logical, but when Steve really thought about it, it didn’t really feel like the truth.

There was one truth he did know, though. Truth was that part of Steve was very grateful that Bucky didn’t want to talk about their new closeness, didn’t want to make sense of what they were now to each other. Because if they were to talk, Steve would have to look into it more closely. He wouldn’t be able to shy away from the conflicting wants inside him and the realities of the world. He’d have to look at it and know there was really no easy way out of it.

What he did know was that he loved Peggy, that when the war ended he wanted to have a life with her and that he’d be happy with her. He also knew that Bucky was his best friend, always would be, and that part didn’t have a conflict with what he wanted with Peggy. That was the easy part.

The rest of it, what they were and what they weren’t with Bucky, that was complicated. Steve avoided looking into it too closely since he could. It didn’t stop him from knowing that it probably wouldn’t end well. 

Yet he did nothing to change it, to draw away from Bucky, and maybe it was the war after all, because none of it felt real. The time after the war felt like a whole another life, a new start, but deep inside he knew it wasn’t like that. They would all bring things back with them, whether they wanted to or not. 

***

London in the late winter was miserable, but Steve barely noticed it, because it was still so much better than anything on the front. Sleeping inside, wearing a clean and dry uniform and regularly washing, all of that was great, and the gray drizzle meant nothing measured against it.

They would be off again the next morning. They had a lead that Zola would be traveling on a train, and they’d possibly be able to intercept him. If they got Zola, and got him to reveal the location of HYDRA’s main base, it would be a major breakthrough. 

Everyone was hopeful and focused, the operation had been carefully planned, and all intelligence verified. They all knew what was at stake, and they also knew that if they managed to take out HYDRA it would free resources for fighting the rest of Hitler’s forces, and that just might turn the tide permanently for them. It was a high time they had a breakthrough.

On that last night Steve was at the officers’ club with Howard and Peggy. For a change they had no work, because everything was ready, checked and double checked. There was music, good company, good whiskey and comfortable chairs. It was pretty much heaven, as far as Steve was concerned. 

Yet he couldn’t relax. He felt antsy for some reason, there was something at the back of his head. An anticipation, and not the good kind. He figured it was just nerves, after all the upcoming operation was arguably their most important one yet. He told himself that the plan was solid, if risky, but then that was all their operations. He trusted the intelligence, he trusted his team. Everything was as well as it could have been. Still, he couldn’t relax. He had a hard time sitting still and focusing on conversation. The whiskey didn’t taste like anything.

Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’m going to check on the guys,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Really, Steve? You don’t get enough of their company as is?” Howard said, not quite slurring words, having had a few glasses himself. He was working on some project he couldn’t talk about, which meant he usually wasn’t in London, but he had happened to arrive the same day Steve and his team had come back from the field.

“I just want to make sure they’ll all be able to walk straight tomorrow, we need to be on top of it from the start.”

“Well, it’s not a bad idea to retire,” Peggy said. “Will you walk me to my quarters, Captain?”

Steve felt bad about his antsiness, since there was little enough time he could spend with Peggy as it was, and now he’d cut short the only non-working evening they’d had for months. He walked back with her, holding an umbrella to keep off the drizzle. They didn’t talk much, but it was a companionable silence. It was one of the easiest things with Peggy, how he could just be and not feel obligated to fill the silence, because it wasn’t oppressive. 

At her door Peggy turned on the steps. “Good night, Steve.” She only used his name when they were alone like this, and otherwise kept to his rank. Steve followed her example, as he knew she had to fight for respect every step of the way, and he wasn’t going to undermine her if he could avoid it.

“Good night, Peggy,” he said, and watched her go in before continuing on his way.

He couldn’t lie to himself, he wanted to kiss her goodnight, as he wanted to do every time he saw her, but he didn’t. He knew that she’d lose all the respect she’d so far gained if she entered a relationship with a colleague, and thus they waited. It was getting harder and harder as months passed, but maybe they finally were nearing the turning point.

Steve checked in at the bar the Commandos frequented when they were in London, and everyone but Bucky was there. Steve didn’t stick around, since a lot of the men inside clearly felt uncomfortable in the presence of an officer, but his team seemed sharp enough. They too knew the importance of the upcoming task. They were having a good time, but no one was in danger of ending up passed out under the table, and it was good enough.

Steve found Bucky in his quarters, smoking out of the window. As he stepped in Bucky nodded but didn’t say anything. Steve didn’t talk either, just came to lean on the window sill with Bucky. They traded the cigarette back and forth in silence for a while, looking out. The smoke didn’t do anything for Steve either, he knew it, but the quiet companionship helped. He felt less agitated here with Bucky.

“I thought the club was open for much longer than this,” Bucky finally broke the silence after tossing the butt out of the window.

“Nerves, I guess. Couldn’t sit still,” Steve confessed, since he knew it would be futile to hide it from Bucky. “And the bar was definitely open, the guys were having a good time.”

“Didn’t feel like it. The noise got on me.” Bucky was quiet for a while. “We’ll get him, right?”

It was halfway a statement, halfway a question, and Steve wondered, not for the first time, how Bucky felt about the mission. His time spent as a prisoner was one of the things they definitely didn’t talk about, and Zola was included in that pile. Bucky had been all professional when he’d taken part in planning and prepping, but this, sitting in quiet alone certainly wasn’t usual for him.

Steve wondered for a moment if he should ask about it, but he didn’t know how to start. It all flew out of his head when Bucky tugged him away from the window by his collar and slammed the open pane shut before crowding right in Steve’s space.

It was new; before they’d only done this high on adrenaline, but Steve wasn’t about to say no. They made quick work of getting rid of the uniforms and tossed them onto Bucky’s cot before tumbling onto the floor. They settled side by side, hands on each other’s cocks, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. They’d both learned how to be quiet a long time ago, and all there was were gasps and shifting of skin as they chased their release.

They didn’t kiss, because it wasn’t what they were. Never had been. Still, for one mad moment, Steve wondered what would happen if he did, if he pressed his lips on Bucky’s. It would be so easy, since they were only separated by a breath. 

He didn’t, because that would mean something, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. Wasn’t even sure if he wanted it.

Afterward they lay on the floor, Steve on his back, Bucky resting his ear on Steve’s chest. It was familiar in a strange way. Before the serum, when Steve had been prone to all kinds of illnesses, it wasn’t that uncommon for Bucky to listen to his heart or lungs. Now that there was nothing wrong, maybe it was reassuring.

Steve stayed still, just letting Bucky do what he needed, and threaded his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

***

(Later, after suffering loss and grief and death, and maybe the most painful of all, a rebirth, after finding out that what he’d thought of as the truth wasn’t at all true, and that his biggest mistake had had even graver consequences than he’d ever imagined, Steve would look back to every memory, every moment, and wonder why he’d never asked, why he’d never pushed to know what Bucky was carrying inside himself.)

 

* * *

 

#####  Forward – Inevitable Truths

It’s difficult to think.

Bucky’s brain is sluggish, as if there was a layer of water between him and every thought he tries to reach. He gets there but it’s a lot of work, enough that half the time he just gives up, lets the train of thought go. It’s not unusual. His memories of after waking from cryostasis are even more piecemeal than the rest, since most of the time he was put in the chair right after. Still, he does remember that it always took time for his head to get back on track, same as the rest of him. No doubt HYDRA used it to their advantage, applied the trigger words right after waking him up when his mental defenses were lower than normal.

The trigger words. They’re still in his head, the charted response to them unchanged. Only now they know how to get rid of them, hopefully. As much as it’s possible to know based on theory anyway, without actually trying the treatment. He doesn’t know how it’ll happen yet; he asked to be told later when he’ll be able to think clearly. He doesn’t want to try to digest the details while still muddled. He’s curious, and even in his fuzzy state he could sense the confidence in everyone. That’s enough for now.

He’s back in his own room, resting. At least that’s what he’s supposed to do; let his body recover. He estimates he’s currently at around 80 % of his physical capability, which is a lot more than that of a non-enhanced human. It still feels slow and unsteady to him. 

After he started managing to stay awake for longer than a few minutes, Bucky was given a thorough check up to confirm that nothing had gone wrong during the stasis. Nothing was amiss, and he was released back to their quarters in the wing that he now shares with not only Steve but Sam and Wanda as well. Natalia is also in Wakanda for now, although Bucky hasn’t seen her yet. It no longer looks like a guest apartment, but a place where people actually live, and he’s glad to know Steve didn’t have to stay there alone the months he spent under.

His own room is as he left it, for the most part. He didn’t really have anything but his battle gear when he arrived, and those are in the closet, along with some clothes provided before he was frozen. In the bathroom there are still the toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and soap he used. Someone must have been in the rooms occasionally, because there’s no dust anywhere, and the bedsheets have been changed.

A new thing is a parcel on the table by the window. It’s his notebooks from before he was caught in Bucharest, wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a note on top in Steve’s neat cursive saying,  _ Tony sent these. No one here has read them.  _

Of course, no one  _ here _ means they have been read by whoever had them after Bucky was caught. He wonders how many people have looked through them, and what they took from them. They certainly have enough to prove his crimes. He doesn’t know whether they have enough to prove he was forced. Most of the time he’s not sure if that should matter anyway. He leaves the parcel on the table, not touching the books.

He’s not really resting even if he’s supposed to. He started out lying on his bed, but soon enough a feeling of restlessness settled on him, and more than that, it feels like something is crawling under his skin. It’s a new feeling, something he doesn’t remember, but he suspects it’s due to the fact that he never before had an occasion to consider his status after the thaw. He was either injured, lying on some scientists table, or conditioned and already on mission mode, when physical discomfort was to be ignored. It wasn’t relevant.

Now it’s difficult to ignore. He can’t stop, can’t rest. He feels like there’s something he should do, or somewhere he should go, even if he knows there’s nothing. He just can’t make his head convince the rest of his body of that. Maybe he doesn’t remember the feeling because he actually hasn’t felt like this before. Back then he had missions. Now though, there’s only him, and as he comes back to himself the reality feels less solid, with less surfaces for him to cling to. He knows he needs something to anchor himself with, and he can’t find anything.

It’ll pass, he knows it will, but right now he’s almost as much out of balance as he remembers being when he stood in the Smithsonian, staring at a dead man with his face. He recites things he knows to be true. His name, where he is, the date, the knowledge that he’s going to be free of the brainwashing, the names of everyone here that are invested in his well-being. It helps a little.

It’s cold. He knows the room is climate controlled and that Steve set the temperature a bit higher than normal for him when he came in, but he’s still cold. He’s on the way to the closet for another shirt maybe, reciting in his head every trip they made to the beach with Steve that he can remember, when he falters for a moment in the middle of a step and turns toward the door. There is a thought, one he acknowledges before setting it aside, that it may not be a good idea, that he might end up regretting this. He’s not stupid, even with his head still foggy he knows there are a million different kinds of consequences, many of them possibly undesirable. Right now they matter less though, compared to the one memory of feeling warm with his face tucked against Steve’s neck right after coming back to consciousness.

Steve is in his own room, which is good because it means there’s no need to try and dodge the others. He’s reading something on his tablet, and Bucky catches a glimpse of some sort of schematic when he slips in and closes and locks the door after himself. Steve’s brows knit together in concern when he sees Bucky, and he unfolds from where he’s sitting in a half lotus position on his bed up to his feet with the kind of efficient grace Bucky remembers he found slightly unsettling after the serum. The memory surfaces for a moment when he moves toward Steve and only stops right in front of him.

Steve visibly hesitates, lifts his hands but doesn’t touch Bucky. He remembers suddenly how Steve always was like that, never that good at initiating physical touch. Bucky curses it in his mind, it’s nothing but inconvenient right now when he really needs Steve and doesn’t have the words to explain. Steve seems to catch on though, since he hesitantly puts his hands on Bucky, right on his left shoulder above the remains of the prosthesis, left on Bucky’s right upper arm. 

“Bucky? Talk to me, what’s wrong? Are you hurting? Do we need to get someone to help?”

Speaking is unexpectedly difficult, considering Bucky managed just fine earlier, but he forces out, “No,” to indicate Steve shouldn’t call anyone. It’s the last thing Bucky wants.

Steve still looks worried, but he hasn’t moved his hands which radiate warmth through Bucky’s thin shirt. He doesn’t talk anymore either, just waits for Bucky to explain. Bucky doesn’t really want to talk, not now when he feels a bit more settled with Steve’s hands on him. He feels grounded, and in the back of his mind something says it’s potentially dangerous, but the fleeting thought is gone almost before it registers, because if Bucky knows anything it’s that there’s nowhere safer for him than with Steve. All he wants is to curl into Steve’s warmth.

He does need to talk though, because this isn’t something he can just take. He needs to ask for it, and Steve has to give it, it’s the only way it’s fair. So Bucky asks, even if he isn’t quite clear in his head of what he’s asking.

“I’m, I’m cold, and it doesn’t stop. I think it’s just in my head. It’s all going sideways and I don’t —” he stops to draw breath, and to let his pulse calm down.

Steve is still frowning, but he hasn’t moved his hands, and Bucky is pitifully grateful for it. “What can I do? I’ll help you if there’s something, you know.”

“Earlier, when I came out of it, it was, you were warm.” 

It’s rambling and halting, but Bucky doesn’t know how to put it better. He let’s his hand hover near Steve’s waist and raises his eyes. “Can I?”

Steve’s brow smooths instantly, but he’s still serious when he says, “Come on then.”

Steve steps closer and his hands slide to Bucky’s back, pulling him against Steve’s body. He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and tucks his face against Steve’s neck. Steve’s hand comes to cradle his head, and it’s so good, so much better than Bucky expected that his knees threaten to give. Steve holds him up and pulls him to the bed, half on his side and half on top of Steve. Steve pulls a blanket over both of them, and he’s running so hot Bucky is soon warmed.

Bucky’s not sure how long they stay there, lying on the bed in the warm cocoon underneath the blanket. Outside the sun goes down and the room dims, only the lights from outside illuminate it. The chills have finally receded, Bucky is perfectly warm and maybe he should leave, but he doesn’t want to. Steve’s hands on his back are solid points of heat, his breathing even and calming, and it still feels like Steve is the only solid thing in the world, the only thing that won’t disappear if he looks away for a moment.

It’s not enough, Bucky realizes, finally seeing the danger his mind tried to warn him about earlier. Now he’s here, and he got what he wanted, and it’s not enough. It’s as if something has opened inside him, something he’d shuttered away maybe knowingly, maybe just instinctively. It’s not enough to lie here, Steve’s hands on him but not touching skin. It’s not enough for Bucky to listen to Steve’s heartbeat in his ears, every inch of his skin itching to be touched.

Bucky doesn’t really remember how to do this, but maybe it doesn’t matter either, because with Steve it never was about patterns and conventions and expectations. It was just them, and maybe it still is, even now that almost everything has changed. Maybe that part hasn’t, and maybe it can carry him now. It’s not like they haven’t done it before; their relationship has shifted and changed its shape dozens of times before the train and after, and somehow it always stayed the same. It still is the same at the core as it was on that day when Bucky chased three other boys away from bullying Steve.

He shifts where he lies, for the first time in hours probably, his nose drawing a line along the edge of Steve’s jaw, his leg slipping between Steve’s. Bucky smooths his hand down from where it was resting on Steve’s chest, toward his waist until he finds bare skin. Steve’s breathing hitches, and he rests one hand on Bucky’s forearm, but it’s light, not stopping his hand from making its way back up, this time under the shirt. Steve’s other hand twists in Bucky’s hair for a moment, not tight enough to hurt.

“Buck?” Steve asks, voice slightly breathless.

Bucky rolls a bit more on top of Steve and props himself up to look at his face. It takes a bit of maneuvering since he only has one arm to lean to, but he manages. Steve’s eyes are huge and blue, darkening when he looks at Bucky. His lips are parted and he’s breathing faster than usual. Bucky bends down, nosing along Steve’s cheek, letting his breath blow over Steve’s ear. Steve squirms under him, and his hand slides lower to Bucky’s waist where his shirt is riding up. Steve’s hand on his bare skin is almost too much and entirely perfect at the same time. 

All Bucky wants is to settle fully on top of Steve, to grind his hips against Steve’s. He wants to relish Steve’s body responding to his touch, because it is, he can feel it already. Yet he stays where he is, because he has to be sure. He has to give Steve the pause where he thinks about what is about to happen, so that he can back away if he wants to.

He probably isn’t playing entirely fair when he lets his lips brush Steve’s earlobe when he whispers, “Say no.”

“What?” Steve slurs the word a little, clearly not parsing what he means.

Bucky props himself up to look at Steve again. His eyes are just a bit unfocused, lips red and Bucky wants to lean down to taste them, but it doesn’t feel right, not that. It’s too much. “Say no,” he repeats. “If you’re not sure of this, say no.”

Steve’s eyes clear, and for a moment he looks at Bucky, feels like he’s looking right into Bucky who wants to squirm and doesn’t, just waits. Then there’s a shift, an openness in Steve’s expression, overwhelming even to Bucky, who remembers being able to interpret every shade of Steve’s smiles and anger. Steve only says one word, “Yes,” and it’s as if all the walls come down.

Bucky bends down but not to kiss. Instead he presses his face against Steve’s throat, Steve turning his head to give him better access. Bucky breaths in Steve’s scent, as if he could breathe Steve in and hold him, become one. Steve’s hands slide under his shirt, touching every inch of skin they can reach. It’s perfect and Bucky wants more.

He lifts himself up again, and Steve probably has the same idea, since he pushes Bucky’s shirt up and helps it over his head. Even before it’s gone Bucky tugs at Steve’s shirt as well. It’s somewhat of a scramble since they only have three hands between them, but they manage to divest themselves the rest of the way before falling back down, on their sides facing each other, pressed together head to foot. Steve’s leg is between Bucky’s and his hand is pulling at Bucky’s hip to gain friction when they move against each other. 

They’re leaning their foreheads together, Steve’s eyes wide and open, filled with too many things for Bucky to handle, so he closes his eyes and concentrates on feeling. His fingers dig into Steve’s back, but Steve clearly doesn’t mind, just growls at the back of his throat at it. Bucky concentrates on the coil and bunch of muscles, all that power under his fingers, right now focused on him, keeping him close. He’s never felt safer in his life, and suddenly it all picks up a notch.

His senses come back in full force, every nerve ending on the skin that’s touching Steve raw and alight, his ears picking out every hitch of breath and moan that escapes from Steve’s mouth. His nostrils are filled with Steve’s scent, sweat and soap and a hint of seasoning from whatever he had for dinner, it’s all there. Bucky wants to press even closer, wants to pull Steve over him, wrap his legs around his hips and lick into Steve’s mouth. He wants to give everything he has, everything he is. He just can’t, not now, and he doesn’t know if he ever can. He just stays there, pliant under Steve’s hands, reveling in the feeling of the world sliding to place. 

Steve slips his hand between them, takes a hold of both of them and sets a steady and fast pace with his strokes. It doesn’t take long before they come.

Later, when Bucky’s breathing normally again, and he’s resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, he takes a stock on things. Everything feels solid again, there’s no longer a sense that the world is about to shift and disappear, and he kind of wants to laugh. He doesn’t, because he has a feeling it would come out bitter, and that’s the last thing he wants to do to Steve, who’s lying there completely relaxed, his fingers moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, drawing images only he can see. 

The film of imaginary water between Bucky and his thoughts is gone, everything is clear now. It brings memories, it brings reservations, and with those come the real consciousness that this may not have been such a good idea. He got what he wanted, it’s true, but he knows he could have gotten back to this point, centered and clear headed, by himself if he’d only waited, and he didn’t. He came to Steve instead, dismissing every warning his muddled brain tried to throw at him. Now everything is clear and he can’t dismiss them anymore.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Bucky says, and feels Steve freeze under him, his hands stopping. “I shouldn’t have asked this of you.”

Steve relaxes again, and says, “So you think there’s something about me, that you need to protect me. I feared it was that you realized you didn’t want it after all.” 

Steve pauses and Bucky shakes his head almost automatically. He was always bad at lying to Steve, even by omission. There is really only one thing he ever managed to hide; how much he’d changed after Zola in 1943. Granted, it had been a big one to hide. 

Steve continues, “What’s the problem then? You asked, and I said yes. You didn’t twist my arm here.”

“Yeah, you said yes, that’s the problem. I’ve seen you, listen, after everything that’s happened, I’m not sure you’d say no to me. That’s why I shouldn’t have asked.”

Steve presses his hands on Bucky a bit harder for a second. 

“I still said yes, and I promise you, it wasn’t blind. I know what I’m doing, I’ve no regrets. Wish you didn’t either. I know you are feeling better than you did when you came in.”

“I am, but that’s not the point. I mean, what about Sharon?”

Steve digs his knuckles in Bucky’s ribs for a second, hard. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you. Do you really think that I would – you really must still be running slow. Listen, if there was something between me and her, I would have told you, and we wouldn’t be here, it wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

“So, what happened?”

“Life happened. It’s okay, we just realized it wasn’t going to work. We’re friends and that’s it. You’re not taking anything from anyone, so get rid of the guilt, it doesn’t suit you.”

Bucky would love nothing better, but he can’t. “You still shouldn’t just say yes to me about everything.”

Steve is quiet for a long while, his hands settling back over Bucky. “I wouldn’t, but I’m not sure you’d believe me now. Besides, it’s not your choice to make. You think I’m just blindly going at this but I’m not. I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything. For you it may have been a blink, but not to me.”

Steve’s voice wavers just a bit, and Bucky swallows. He knew this when he went under. Even though he had believed it was the right thing to do to go in ice, he’d had no illusions whether it would be hard on Steve. He’d known it would be, and it has. He can tell, as much as Steve tries to keep it from him. Back then Bucky hoped that the time apart would put some distance between them, would help Steve remember he has a life now that has nothing to do with Bucky. Only it seems it hasn’t happened that way; while he was under Steve has clearly come to another conclusion. Bucky isn’t quite brave enough to ask him to elaborate. Also, it really doesn’t help that he’s here, if he wants them to grow more distant.

If he’s honest to himself, it’s the last thing he wants. Only he isn’t sure what he wants is the best thing for them, and there’s also the part of him that can’t accept the things he wants. There’s a part of him that wants to walk away.

“I should go,” Bucky says, and feels immediate disappointment when Steve’s hands lift off his skin. He sits up and rubs his eyes.

“If you have to go, then do. But if it’s something you think you should want but don’t, then you should also know I’d like you to stay,” Steve says.

Bucky sits there for a long while, not really thinking, just frozen between the two possibilities. Neither of them seems perfectly right. Finally he gives in. 

“Get under the covers, it’s getting chilly in here.”

He ends up on his back, with Steve plastered against his side, one arm thrown over him. He’s not cold at all.

***

The next day Bucky goes through all kinds of tests they can think of, for both for his mental and physical state. They determine he’s fully recovered from cryostasis, and can go through the trigger removal procedure anytime. They all ask if he wants to wait, but he doesn’t. After all, the reason he went under was to make sure nothing happens because of the traps inside his head, and since he’s deemed fully fit, there no time like present. Both Steve and Wanda are in Wakanda right now, and Bucky doesn’t want to take a risk that they get called away and the procedure gets delayed. It’s been too long already. He wants his brain all for himself.

They gather in the same room where the cryostasis machine was kept, but now it’s been taken away. There is an examination table in the middle of the space, and even more computers than previously. There are also some other devices, and Bucky suspects a serious amount of design effort has gone to try and make them not look like anything HYDRA had.

He lies down and gets hooked onto about a million sensors before something is lowered over his head. He keeps looking into the ceiling and carefully controlling his breathing. He reminds himself again that these people are here to help and not hurt him. It makes things easier that everyone is narrating what they are doing, talking directly to him and making sure he’s comfortable. Back with HYDRA the scientists never spoke to him unless it was to ask questions. They only ever talked over him as if he was incapable of understanding.

It’s still not easy; the idea of having someone inside his head makes his skin crawl. The fact that there’s nothing else for it, he just has to trust everyone, is the hardest thing he’s done after breaking through the conditioning on the helicarrier. Still, he’s going to let this happen, because he needs his head clean, he needs to know no one can use him against his will. If and probably when he’s going to spill blood again it’ll be by his own choice.

Finally they are ready. Bucky’s been explained the procedure beforehand, and everything is familiar by now. They will be going through the triggering twice; first to calibrate the equipment, and for the second time to remove the conditioning. There are two categories of words, first the list of ten words that’ll cause total compliance, and after that another list, simple phrases with simple reaction, to flee, to fight, to lose consciousness. The latter words are trickier, since they haven’t been able to test them at all, and they’re fairly certain not all of them are in the book anyway. Still, the team is reasonably confident everything will be fine. They have determined that the conditioning is rather like a net, everything is connected, and that the ten principal words act as an anchor. They believe that what they have is enough to cause a chain reaction to clear everything out.

“Right,” Abeni says, flicking her braid behind her shoulder. “We are ready for calibration. Bucky, what about you?”

“Let’s do this,” Bucky says, and stays perfectly still as he’s been instructed.

He can just see Steve from corner of his eye, stepping closer. There’s a quick squeeze at his shoulder, Steve’s hand warm and familiar, and Steve begins reading the words, calm and steady. Bucky pushes the automatic panic down, again reminding himself that nothing bad will happen, he’s as safe as he can be with Steve speaking the words. Word after word settles inside him, and he slips further away from himself, the world stops mattering. The pattern comes to an end, there’s the question, and the traditional reply leaves his lips without prompting.

“Готовый подчиняться.”

There’s another word, and the darkness takes him.

***

Bucky comes to, his mind clear. The clock on the wall tells him it’s only been ten minutes since they started. Wanda has her hands on his temples, steady and cool, and Bucky can feel a hint of her magic she used to dissipate the forced compliance. Steve is still standing next to him, eyes serious and a very familiar line between his brows, a clear tell of worry, although so slight that Bucky knows it must just be the general jitters. Abeni stands on the other side of the bed, looking at her tablet, and after a moment she nods.

“Everything checks out, no surprises. We can proceed as planned, if everyone is ready,” she says.

There is a chorus of voices confirming, Wanda last, and finally Bucky realizes he needs to give an okay too. “No time like present,” he says, and focuses on the ceiling once more. 

Wanda’s hands settle on his temples again, and Steve begins to recite the words. Bucky knows to expect it, but the feeling in his head is still surprising. He can feel the words trying to get hold of him, except now there’s something chasing after them, denying them purchase. From the corner of his eye he can see data streaming on the screens around him, as the machine strapped around his head works in tandem with Wanda. He’s not falling into himself this time, his surroundings stay in focus. There’s a red tint at the edges of his vision, and it’s not exactly pleasant. He’s fairly sure he’s about to have a hell of a headache, but it’s a small prize to pay. 

Finally there’s the tenth word, and the usual call to him, to make sure the procedure has stuck. This time though, Bucky is still present, and after five seconds of silence he says, “Well, I’m not going to say it.” Next to him Steve let’s out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Great,” Abeni says. “Everything nominal. Steve, continue with the other list.”

Steve moves onto the other trigger words, and again they try to take purchase, but they keep slipping even before the magic and electrical currents completely decimate them. They no longer have a hold on him as they used to.

Finally they are done, and it feels like it’s been hours, even if the clock says it’s only been eighteen minutes. Bucky’s head feels bruised all over on the inside, and yet there’s elation, because he doesn’t need to test it, he knows it’s all gone. From now on, no one but him makes decisions. The sensors and computers are wheeled away, and the people begin to file out until there’s only the key personnel left. Steve helps Bucky to the room next door, back into the bed he woke up in when he was recovering from the cryostasis. He lets them hook an IV into his hand; it’s something to help his serum repair his brain, courtesy of Helen Cho. He falls asleep without prompting, exhausted even though he’s only been lying down.

***

Bucky wakes up next morning when the sun is just barely over the horizon. He feels whole in his head, the perpetual fear of being overridden gone. Next to the bed Steve is slumped low in an armchair, his legs propped onto another. He’s sleeping, but when Bucky continues looking at him, he opens his eyes and smiles.

“Morning, Buck. How do you feel?”

“Like a person,” he says, and it’s silly but Steve gets him.

“That’s a good place to be. Want me to call them so you can get out of here?”

“Please.”

He goes through another series of checks, including Steve reading through the list of all trigger words again. He feels nothing but deep loathing toward all of HYDRA, and that’s all him. He’s released, and they have a brunch with Sam and Wanda. Natalia is still nowhere to be seen. The conversation flows easily, even if Bucky knows he’s quieter than he used to be before the fall. It is what it is. He’s never going to be the same man. Steve is laughing at the jokes, obviously happy in general, and something inside Bucky aches. He still doesn’t know where they are headed, and is even less sure what exactly him ending up in Steve’s bed the first night back away from ice means.

In the afternoon Bucky takes to the gym with the others, keen to check everything is working, still feeling stiff from the time spent in the ice. Exercise at least is simple, it’s easy to just concentrate on the movement of the body and its responses. He briefly wonders what he’s going to do from now on. Steve mentioned they’ve been working to weed out HYDRA, and it’s something that Bucky fully approves of, but even if he tags along, it can only be a part of his life. Everything else is still up in the air.

That night he retreats to his own room again, but he can’t sleep. Not a wink. After tossing and turning long after all other noises nearby have died down, he throws away the covers and heads to Steve’s room. He pauses at the threshold, not sure if he’s welcome, and even less sure of whether it’s a good idea at all. He doesn’t get to hesitate long though, because Steve raises his head and flips the covers down on the other half of the bed.

“You’re not going to just stand there all night, are you?”

“No,” Bucky says, and crawls in with Steve. They don’t touch at all, or even talk, and Bucky falls asleep only minutes later.

***

The next morning Bucky wakes up at a crack of dawn, not because he wants to, but because Steve gets out of bed. They seem to have kept to their own sides even while sleeping, and Bucky can’t decide if he’s grateful or disappointed about it. He did sleep well after he came to Steve’s room, and right now it feels easy, almost as if they’ve gone back in time, except he couldn’t pinpoint which time. This is nothing like things used to be, and they are nothing like they used to be. Still, the ease is familiar, the way he can just stay with Steve nearby, without feeling watched or uncomfortable. It doesn’t happen with anyone else these days.

Steve comes out of the bathroom moving with a familiar sort of grace, but it’s not like Bucky remembers from the war. Back then the difference to how Steve moved before the serum was staggering, but now Bucky can see there’s been evolution. He has noticed it before, but it’s only now that it fully registers. They haven’t talked about it, but he knows that since he came off the ice, Steve has gained a lot more skills, fighting and other. 

Back in the war the training hadn’t been all that thorough; they’d been taught to use their weapons and equipment, but hand to hand combat training hadn’t been that extensive at all. They’d been thrown into the field barely ready, because there was no time to do anything else, and they’d picked up things as they went along. Steve took to learning from everyone they met, the French resistance fighters were some of the more interesting people to meet, and when it came to the shield, Steve spent hours and hours learning skills and trying things. They didn’t always carry fruit, but after a few months Steve had become skilled enough that the Commandos didn’t want to duck every time he made a throw.

This drive to learn must have carried over to this side, considering Steve’s fighting style these days is a mix of several disciplines, many of them developed after the war and pulled to limits and combined with the kind of things only Steve with his enhanced physique can do. The day before Bucky worked alone in the gym, partly because the missing arm means everything he does is experimental, but now he wonders what it would be like to spar with Steve, just for exercise. They’ve fought of course, and from that he remembers a lot about what Steve can do, but sparring is a whole another thing. He files the thought away.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve says as he heads into the walk-in closet. “Want to come for a run with me?”

Bucky considers it for a second, but he’s actually feeling too comfortable to move. “No. And I think my balance right now isn’t that great for running anyway.”

“Some other time then,” Steve says, smiles at him and heads out.

Bucky stays in bed for a while longer, but doesn’t fall back to sleep. Finally he gets up, ducks into his own rooms to have a quick shower and a change of clothes before heading for the kitchen. He’s a bit clumsy with just the one hand, but manages to get a pot of coffee going, and as it brews he starts to think about breakfast. Wanda comes in soon after him, and they work together to get the meal ready for all of them. It goes quickly with her doing anything that needs two hands. 

Bucky hasn’t spent that much time with her at all, he only met her at the airport before he went under, and that wasn’t much about socializing. After he was woken up all their interactions have been due to the treatment for the triggers. He does know that she’s close to Steve, more so than some of the other Avengers. Far as he can tell, even if Steve cares about all of his current and former team mates, and would do a lot for them, the ones that he’s closer to personally are Sam, Natasha, Wanda and Sharon. Bucky doesn’t yet know how he himself fits into this pattern, and it’s tricky to start trying to figure it out. 

Sam wanders in just when the coffee is ready, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Did Steve go to running already?”

“He left an hour ago,” Bucky tells him, and adds, “He did knock on your door on the way out but you didn’t hear.”

Wanda grins. “Did you stay up late with Nat?”

“Don’t you even —” Sam starts, and there’s Steve, coming around the corner, not at all flushed even though he probably managed to run a whole marathon already.

“Should I be worried that your personal life is interfering with the missions? Because in our line of work regular training is essential,” Steve says, completely deadpan, and Bucky doesn’t even bother to check his grin, especially since Sam growls in reply.

“You better zip it Rogers or I’ll punch you.”

“Yeah yeah, hand me the sugar,” Steve just says as he goes for the coffee.

The four of them eat, and it’s still easy. Part of Bucky feels paranoid about it, how well he seems to be slipping into the group when it feels like he shouldn’t. There’s still a lot to be figured out, to see where he stands. Sam is the only one beside Steve he’s spent any significant amount of time with, and he doesn’t really know where they stand now, with him having been gone for months. It was easy during the first days, for a good reason, since Sam was wary of him both because of what he’d done and doubly so because Steve wasn’t as wary as he clearly should have been in Sam’s opinion. Bucky is inclined to agree with that, but he’s not really keen on admitting it to Sam. 

As they eat, Bucky can see Sam and Wanda stealing glances at him, at Steve, and he knows they are trying to figure out what to make of him, how to settle in it. He knows he’s still an outsider, for all that it’s been almost too easy with them. He can see the connection between the three of them, and knows they share something he doesn’t belong in.

It is childish, he fully knows it, but the closeness between Steve and Sam, the easy friendship, does make him jealous, as if it was somehow taking something away from him, even if it clearly isn’t. Everything Steve has done for him communicates that, and yet it’s still true. Bucky tries to push it away because he’s truly glad that Steve has managed to find a friend that is as good and loyal as Sam, someone with whom things can be uncomplicated. Even if Bucky doesn’t yet know too much about the team, he does know that mostly things between them are complicated. He knows Steve and Sam talk about almost everything personal, and idly wonders if Sam knows what happened between them the first night after Bucky was unfrozen, or that they slept in the same room the night before. He doesn’t really care whether Sam knows, he’s just curious as to what he thinks, and whether he still thinks, as he used to, that Steve should put more distance between himself and Bucky. Bucky wouldn’t blame him if he did, since a part of him agrees to that. The problem is that not all parts of him want the same thing.

Natalia makes no appearance again, and now Bucky knows it’s deliberate. He figures it’s not so odd, their history after all is complicated, and it’ll probably take time to sort it. If he’s honest, he’s a bit glad actually, he’s got enough on his plate trying to figure out things with Steve.

***

After breakfast they all drift to take care of their own business. Bucky takes a nap, since his brain is still recovering, and he gets tired easily, but he does feel better every time he wakes up. Afterward he finds himself staring at the notebook with the star on its cover that was given back after the procedure was done.

Wanda is in the common area reading when Bucky comes in with the notebook. He lifts it up for her to see and asks, “Any place here I can get rid of this without having to worry someone patching it back together?”

She grins. “They have a very nice incinerator. I can show you.”

She leads him to the bottom level of the palace, and they look together as the flames eat the notebook. Bucky stares at it until there’s nothing left, and even if it was just so much paper and ink after the procedure, it still feels like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders. Afterward they walk back slowly, taking a loop through the garden where little monkeys chatter in the trees, and Bucky asks the question that’s been in his mind ever since he was explained about her role in his treatment.

“You can see into people’s heads, right? So what did you see in mine?”

“Well, when I was there, I concentrated on structures rather than thoughts, so mostly I just got glimpses. All kinds of things, from your life and from the time with HYDRA. And Steve. You worry about his reaction.”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits.

“Surely not whether he will accept you though? Because he accepted me, even though I made my choices instead of being forced. And you are his friend.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Ah,” she says, understanding. “You think you don’t deserve him. But,” she says, and switches the cadence of her speech to something closer to how Steve sounds like, “everyone can decide for themselves what they accept and what not.”

Bucky huffs an almost laugh, and asks, “What about you he accepts even if you’re not sure whether he should or not?”

Her smile is complicated when she asks, “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“I was also HYDRA.”

Bucky manages to stay neutral. “How did that happen?”

“Our parents were killed in a bombing. The killers were terrorists, but they used Stark weapons. My brother and I, we ended up trapped, staring at an unexploded shell with that name on it for days before we were rescued. I was so sure we would die too. After that, all we wanted was revenge. We were very young. And HYDRA came along, offering power to fight. We took the chance, even if it came with a risk. We were the only survivors.”

“And later you were an Avenger, and now a fugitive fighting against HYDRA.”

“I think I’m making a little bit better choices these days. Not perfect, but better.”

“I guess that’s all we can aim at.”

“Difference between us is you didn’t get choices at all.”

Bucky hums. “Well, you may have chosen, but really, what would have happened if you’d said no?”

“Doesn’t matter, I said yes.”

“And it was my hands that killed all those people,” he says, and she seems to understand.

“Steve offered us a way out, and later when my brother was gone, he became almost like one instead. He’s not going to give up on you either.”

“Sometimes that feels like the scariest thing in the world,” Bucky admits, and they continue their walk in a companionable silence.

***

A few more days go by, and Bucky feels like he’s drifting, purposeless. Since the day he burned the notebook, he’s been sleeping in his own room. Steve has stayed in his, not even saying anything, giving him space, and Bucky can’t decide if it’s good or bad. Part of him still wants to shy away from Steve precisely for the same reasons he want to hang onto Steve and never let go. Because even if Steve isn’t like Bucky remembers him, not exactly, and it’s not just due to his mismatched memories, he’s still Steve, in all the ways that it matters. Bucky has always felt a pull toward Steve, even when he didn’t remember anything, not even his own name, and it’s still present. Now there are just a lot more reasons to resist it. Even if Steve is not Captain America, he’s still filling the same role for his team, still means the same for them if not the whole world, and Bucky doesn’t think he fits in with that. 

There’s also another kind of pull, a purely physical one. While the pull toward Steve the person is familiar, this is less so, and yet not completely foreign. It’s what caused Bucky to go to Steve that first day after waking up from cryostasis, the same thing that means he feels he can sleep easier when Steve is there. It’s what makes his eyes track Steve when he walks in the apartment, or makes his hand twitch, wanting to touch.

There always was an aspect of physicality in their relationship, easy friendliness, and more than that. Steve was sick so often that the separate times run into one in his memories, and Bucky remembers being child and man, sitting next to Steve’s bedside, hand on his forehead or clutching his slender fingers, or curling around his thin body, hoping to provide some much needed warmth. Later Steve never got sick, but it was the war, and cold, and everyone shared body heat with teammates. The cramped conditions meant there was no personal space. 

Then there was everything else.

Part of Bucky thinks this physical pull to feel Steve’s skin against his is just that, wanting something familiar, and yet it’s not. It’s like craving a drink of ice cold water after a long day’s march, and it’s not the first time Bucky thinks so while looking at Steve. It means something, and maybe Steve would even know what, but Bucky doesn’t ask. He just puts distance between them, and tries not to remember how the lines of Steve’s body felt under him, how his cheeks flushed and breath came short.

It helps that Steve is busy with their project to eliminate HYDRA. He’s regularly training, and beyond that spends hours looking through intelligence and formulating strategies with Nick Fury and whoever else is on the line. Bucky stays out of it, even if Steve has mentioned he’s welcome to come along if he wants to. 

Right after Bucky woke up he was told that there was a new arm designed for him if he wanted it, and he said yes. He can get by with just one, but if he wants to be independent, he needs a new prosthetic. He has no illusions about his situation, and knows he’ll need to be able to fight, whatever life he chooses. He approved of the designs, and the manufacturing took a few days, but now everything is ready. 

The new arm doesn’t look that different from the one he used to have, but it’s lighter, closer to the weight of his other arm, and stronger, enhanced with vibranium. It’s powered by a small arc reactor that Stark apparently sent for the express purpose. Steve has told Bucky that Tony agreed that the Wakandans should build the arm but that he still was better when if came to power sources. Apparently it is a point of pride.

It takes almost all day to fit the new arm into the mounting of the old one and connect all the nerve paths. It’s just him and the Wakandan team, which somewhat surprises Bucky, since Steve hasn’t really left his side during any of the medical procedures since they came to Wakanda.

When everything is finished Bucky feels inexplicably light, even if his weight has technically increased. It’s that he’s suddenly in balance, in a way he hasn’t been since he lost his own left arm. He feels great, despite the lingering soreness after the procedure, and he heads out to the gym, thinking of testing the limits. Usually this late the training rooms are vacated, but when Bucky comes in he finds Steve there, practicing with his battle sticks. It’s a weapon Bucky’s never seen Steve wield, but there’s a similar fluid ease as Steve manages with his shield.

“Want to help me test this?” Bucky says, wiggling his new fingers, when Steve turns toward him.

He doesn’t need to convince Steve, and soon enough they’re at it. It is different compared to fighting for real, as Bucky knew it would be. They start easily, increasing intensity step by step, occasionally calling out tips for each other, about stance, about blind spots and openings, all to make each other better. They never go all out since Bucky isn’t supposed to strain too much yet, and it’s hard to say how evenly matched they are, but Bucky thinks it’ll be fairly close when he’s fully used to the arm. This kind of sparring feels more like fighting together rather than fighting each other, it’s more about matching the other person than trying to find a weakness to exploit.

As they continue, Bucky feels his skin tingling, as if it is a size too small, and every time he brushes against Steve there’s a jolt that flashes through his spine. There’s also a flush high on Steve’s cheeks, and it could be the exercise, but Bucky doesn’t think so.

It’s more than an hour later when they finally come to halt, both breathing hard as they sit down on the floor. Bucky concentrates on breathing in and out, feeling his heart rate come gradually down. It doesn’t really take that long; due to the serum all kinds of recovery happens fast. Next to him Steve’s breathing regains its normal resting pace just as fast, but neither one of them makes to get back up and leave.

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him, and he can only ignore it for so long. Granted, he isn’t really making an effort. He finds that he likes it, the attention, now that it’s not tinged with desperation as it was before he went to ice. There’s focus to it, a want that draws Bucky in. 

When he actually looks at Steve, he sees that Steve is focused on his left arm. It makes him self-conscious, almost twitchy, wanting to move out of Steve’s direct line of sight. The reason he doesn’t is that the look in Steve’s eyes has nothing to do with horror, or disgust, or sorrow. There’s no pity. It’s fascination Bucky finds, and just as he figures it out, Steve raises his gaze and reaches out, gesturing at the arm.

“Can I?” Steve asks, and it’s nothing Bucky expected, not even after knowing Steve clearly wasn’t fazed at all by it when they were sparring.

Bucky can’t find words, so he just lifts his hand, lays it over Steve’s palm, unsure of what to expect. Steve shifts closer, gently grasping Bucky’s hand and running his fingers over the metal plating. He brushes Bucky’s palm with his thumb, slides his palm up Bucky’s forearm, tangles their fingers together. Bucky looks at his hand between Steve’s half mesmerized, unable to look away, half scared to look up for fear of what he might see in Steve’s eyes. His new arm doesn’t look much different from the old one, but he can feel much more now. It’s nothing like his flesh and blood hand, but he can feel pressure and weight, and most of all the heat from Steve’s hand, the gentleness. It’s the first time anyone has ever touched his left arm like this after his fall.

A shiver goes through him, and the metal plates shift, adjusting, and from the corner of his eye Bucky can see Steve’s lips part a little, his head bending toward their joined hands. Of course that’s when a door to the gym opens, and Bucky can’t help tensing. Steve of course notices and lets go of his hand. The moment, whatever it was that was about to happen, is broken.

In a silent agreement they get back on their feet and head toward their quarters. After showering Bucky comes back out of his room suddenly ravenous, and they have dinner together with Wanda and Sam. It’s quiet that night, as it sometimes gets. No one seems that keen on having a conversation, but it’s not uncomfortable at all. Everyone is just residing in their heads a bit that day. After the meal they all retreat back to their own rooms, and Bucky does his best to fall asleep, but he knows immediately it’s not going to happen that easily. He doesn’t toss and turn, just lies in his bed, waiting for the minutes to tick by until he can’t stand it anymore.

There’s a sliver of light coming from under Steve’s door, and maybe he should knock, to ask permission. Instead he pushes at the door and slips in, closing the door fully behind him. Steve is sketching in his bed, and he doesn’t try to stop Bucky from seeing it’s him. He’s mostly in shadow, rendered in soft lines and and shifting grays. The only thing in focus is the arm that’s accurately portrayed even if the drawing is done from memory. 

Photographic memory, Bucky suddenly remembers. After the serum Steve could easily remember pictures and maps even with only short study. It’s not quite similar to Bucky, he’s better at remembering things he reads, he absorbs information fast, and he’s especially good with large amounts of numbers and data.

Steve hands the sketchpad to Bucky who looks at it, notes the detailing around his eyes and the faraway look, before laying it down on the nightstand. Steve reaches to put down his pencils when Bucky crawls up the bed and crowds close to Steve.

“If my arm fascinates you that much, do you want to see what else it can do?” Bucky whispers right into Steve’s ear and feels his lips curve into a smile when Steve’s breath hitches.

“That’s a really bad line,” Steve says, but he’s smiling, turning toward Bucky.

They used to do this, Bucky remembers again as he divests Steve of the tank top and shorts he’s wearing, ready to sleep. Steve makes a belated grab at Bucky’s clothes, but doesn’t get anywhere before Bucky gets a hold of his wrists and pushes him down on his back. Steve yields easily, this is pretty much the only place he does, settling down against the pillows, lips parted, eyes hooded. Bucky gathers Steve’s wrists together so that he can hold them both in his right hand, and pushes them against the headboard. Steve’s cock is filling between his legs, still untouched.

They used to do this, except it’s all different now. This time Bucky smooths a hand that’s made of metal down the planes of Steve’s body. He’s barely touching; there’s only a whisper light pressure, but Steve sucks a breath, and a flush blooms upon his cheeks, reaching down his chest. He squirms just a little, but doesn’t try to get his hands free. Bucky takes his time, moving only his left hand, almost not touching. He can afford to keep the pace tranquil and concentrate on the changes in Steve’s breathing, his deepening arousal.

Back in the day, during the war and before the fall, it was always sloppy and frantic between them. It started in Europe, after a mission when they barely escaped with their lives, and Bucky had just needed to know that Steve was there, had needed to touch him. It had clearly been the same for Steve, who’d pulled Bucky in by his lapels, buried his face in Bucky’s neck and crowded close. Bucky had pulled Steve closer still, had almost wanted to crawl inside Steve’s skin, to make sure his heart was still beating and that blood was still circulating. It was fueled by adrenaline of the scare and endorphins of relief, so it wasn’t really surprising they ended up rutting against each other, hands grasping for bare skin. They got each other off with their hands that time, and it had been as if floodgates had opened. After that, it was a regular thing after missions. Always hectic, always in a hurry.

Bucky has no rush now, and he keeps almost touching Steve until he’s writhing under Bucky’s hand, cock fully hard, gasping for breath and cursing and urging Bucky to properly touch him. Bucky lets himself look at Steve now, to learn how each muscle flexes, how his skin flushes in patches and sweat beads on the hollow of his throat. Bucky lets himself look, the way he didn’t during the war, the way he hasn’t dared yet now that they’ve come back together. He could stay here forever, could just keep looking at Steve, feel the gaze of Steve’s almost closed eyes on him. Only it can’t last forever, and he finally brushes his palm over Steve’s cock and relishes in the moan that escapes from him.

During the war, touching each other like this meant everything, and yet didn’t. It wasn’t about love or even passion back then, even though the fact that it was Steve made everything easier, meant that there were no hidden traps and ulterior motives in the touch. It was all about closeness, and living in the hell of the war, about remembering they were human beings, capable of other things beyond the killing. Sometimes Bucky felt that only a thin barrier held his humanity intact, and he suspects it was the same for Steve. They clung together, pushed those thin barriers against each other in hope it would make them stronger. It was everything, because it was safe. It’s no wonder Bucky found himself in Steve’s arms after he woke up from the ice, barely hanging onto his humanity.

Now wars are different, they have time and privacy, and Bucky isn’t sure if it makes the meaning different, isn’t sure if it should. It still feels safe, here in Steve’s room, sliding his hand up and down Steve’s cock. Steve seems to have lost all capability to speak in words, and instead lets out stuttering moans now that he can, now that they don’t have to be silent so that the people around them won’t know. 

Bucky still keeps the pace steady and slower than Steve would probably like. He listens to every sound Steve makes, every breath he takes. He knows exactly when Steve is close, when he needs to slow down and let him back away from the edge. He keeps bringing Steve closer and closer to coming, always pulling him back, until every muscle in Steve’s body is shaking, until his eyes are fully closed. Only then he picks a moment when he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull back, and Steve goes taut as a bow string when he comes, spilling over his stomach and relaxes completely.

Bucky lets go of Steve’s wrists, noting the tiniest hints of bruises where his fingers pressed into skin. They will be all gone by morning. He wipes the come off Steve’s skin on the discarded top and then lies his head on Steve’s chest, listening to his breathing get more even, and the heartbeat come close to normal resting rate.

He doesn’t get to stay there long before Steve shifts and pushes him down, pulls his clothes away and tossed them off. It is only when Steve’s almost fever hot palm reaches around him that Bucky realizes he’s painfully hard. He concentrated on Steve before and pushed his own sensations to the back of his head, but now he can’t do so anymore, not when Steve bends down his head and follows his hand with his even hotter mouth.

Bucky’s had this done to him before, but never by Steve. During the war it was always hands or grinding against each other, nothing further, perhaps because it would have meant something different then. Now Bucky can’t even begin to figure out what it means, because he’s immediately so far gone with Steve’s lips sliding up and down his shaft, tongue flicking over the head, fingers still encircling the base of Bucky cock and working on it in time with his mouth.

It doesn’t take long at all before Bucky is coming into Steve’s mouth, and he hazily thinks he probably should have warned Steve but by then it’s too late. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps Bucky in his mouth until he’s finished.

Afterward Bucky is completely wiped out all of a sudden, knowing he can finally sleep. Steve puts out the light and pulls the sheets over them before curling around Bucky, opposite of how they used to sleep during the cold winters in Brooklyn before the war. Almost everything about the world and them has changed since then, but Bucky still feels content lying there, slipping into sleep while listening to Steve’s steady breathing.

***

Bucky wakes up with the sun high on the sky. It’s mid-morning by his estimation. Steve is still in bed with him, although awake, reading something on his phone. For a moment Bucky just stays there, his face pressed against Steve’s side, trying to figure out where this is all going, and what it means.

There’s a hand in his hair, lightly scratching over his scalp.

“Morning,” Steve says, his voice low but clear, he’s obviously been awake for a while.

“You didn’t go for a run today,” Bucky says, because it’s the only thing he can think of.

“I can take a day off,” Steve says. Bucky can hear the smile.

Bucky rolls onto his back and rubs his eyes. He again slept for longer than is usual for him, but it’s only to be expected, since his brain is still recovering. He’s only now getting out of the habit of taking naps.

He finally looks at Steve, who’s looking down at him still smiling, his phone forgotten in his hand, and what Bucky sees brings him to pause. For a moment it’s as if all the barriers are down and what Bucky sees is exactly what he doesn’t want to see.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Bucky says, an echo from the night after he was brought out of the ice.

“I thought we discussed this already,” Steve says and puts his phone away, looking at Bucky so earnestly it’s hard to bear.

“No, I mean, we’re not on the same page here. You’re a lot more invested, I can tell. You want more than just this, more than just what it was back in the war. And I don’t know what I want, but I do know I can’t. Not now.”

“I know,” Steve says, still so unfailingly earnest.

“Then why’d you say yes? If you know you want more than I do, you shouldn’t put yourself on the line like that. I said before that I figured you wouldn’t say no to me and I was right.”

“No, Bucky, listen, I knew what I was getting into, I made that choice. And it felt good. Still does. It doesn’t need to be everything or nothing.”

“But it’s not really what you want, just this. Don’t try to tell me it is, don’t lie to me.”

“I know I can’t, so I’m not trying to. And okay, maybe I hope there can be something more, but I still made this choice fully knowing it might be all there was.”

It’s the truth, at least as far as Steve considers it. Bucky can tell, but he doesn’t really like it.

“I’m not sure I’m worth this, the way you keep giving up things for me.”

“Keep giving things up? Listen, if you’re thinking about opposing the Accords, don’t. I’d made my decision on them before Vienna, and if that hadn’t happened, there would have been something else that put me against those who chose to go with them. As it is, your life is definitely worth it to me. I wasn’t about to watch them kill you without a trial. And the Accords didn’t allow even for that, didn’t allow us the basic human rights. So back then, yes, I gave up things, but it wasn’t just because of you and I don’t regret that. And now? I’m still not regretting, you can see it right?”

Steve stops, a frown between his eyebrows, looking at Bucky utterly serious. It’s all the truth and Bucky doesn’t really have a counter for it. But neither can he give Steve what Steve wants.

“What if I never get to a place where you can have what you want?” Bucky asks, voicing the question he needs Steve to think over now before it’s too late.

“Then you don’t,” Steve shrugs. “It’s okay, it’s not really the point for me, or a requirement. What I feel is my business, and you have to sort out yourself.”

“You say it like it’s easy,” Bucky says, fully knowing how petulant he sounds.

Steve keeps looking at him, all honesty. “It isn’t. But then, I don’t need it to be. I’ve had time to think about what I want, and I’m not confused. You’re it for me, but it’s not about expectations, I’m not asking you to do something you’re not comfortable with even when I’m telling you how I feel. It’s just the truth, and you deserve to know, since you can see it anyway. And maybe someday I’ll want something else, but don’t try to talk me out of it. You might disagree with me whether it’s a smart thing, but sometimes you just have to let people do things that aren’t. You need to figure out what you want now, and I hope you find it, whatever it is.”

“And if it’s not something that goes with what you want?”

“It’s as I said, then it isn’t. I’ll deal.”

Bucky looks at Steve, for a full ten seconds. “I have to go, I need to think about this.”

He throws on the clothes he came in, and heads for the door.

“Whatever you decide, you do what you have to,” Steve calls after him as Bucky’s about to open the door.

He doesn’t look back, but he has a feeling that Steve somehow already knows what he’s going to do, even when he doesn’t even know for himself.

***

Bucky’s lying on his back on the floor, feeling his vertebra settling in place. He’s only had the new arm for a few days, but he thinks he can already tell the difference in how his body reacts to the weight distribution. His old arm was useful, efficient, and objectively speaking a technical marvel, but it was heavy, and it affected his spine and muscles. While he was with HYDRA he ignored the pain, because that was what he’d been taught to do; to ignore all physical discomfort that wasn’t actually debilitating. During the two years he spent on the run trying to figure out things, it had become difficult. As he became more and more human again, pain became more of a distraction.

The new arm is close to the same weight as his right arm, and he can tell his back is not trying to pull crooked under its weight. He wouldn’t have minded the pain if it had reappeared with the new arm, because he’s felt all too vulnerable without it, but it is a relief.

He’s concentrating on his body, the status and where he still needs to recover. It helps to keep a part of his mind occupied so that the rest can unpack where he is now and what he needs to do.

It isn’t actually difficult at all to see the answers. He needs to go, somewhere to be alone, as he did after DC.

During his two solitary years he learned a lot about being a human again, he found a version of himself that could walk around the city, talk to the vendors at the market and just generally exist among people. He remembered some things, both from before the fall and from when he was with HYDRA, but the latter were a lot easier to slot in place. 

The memories from Brooklyn and even from war were tricky, as if they were second hand memories, or remembered dreams. He believed they were true only about half the time, and got that far only because there was so much evidence. Whole museum exhibits for starters.

It all changed when he came to his apartment to get his things, intending to disappear, and found Steve there. Back then he said he didn’t know why he’d pulled Steve out of the Potomac, and it had been true earlier in the morning, but not anymore, not at that moment in his kitchen. During their trip to Berlin and later to Leipzig and Siberia things kept settling in. It’s still not perfect, but now he at least knows who he used to be and can mostly separate truth from nightmares.

He made a lot of headway during the two years, but he still hasn’t managed to unpack it all as much as he needs to. There are still a lot of things he needs to deal with, things to do with HYDRA, the Russians, Pierce, Zola, even the war. All the blood in his hands and the guilt that comes with it. He needs to make sense of it all before he can truly know who he is now and move on.

He also admits he needs to get away because he’s feeling fragile over the new intrusion inside his head. It was necessary, and he wanted and accepted it, but it doesn’t change the fact it’s still tricky. It was still strangers rearranging his brain, even if it was to help him instead of hurting him.

All of this he needs to do without Steve, and truthfully somewhere away, because if he stays he knows he’ll be drawn into the vortex that is Steve, and he wouldn’t know if what he felt and thought was truly his own or Steve’s. He won’t do that, not to either of them. 

He needs to find his center, and only then he can start thinking about coming back. He wishes he knew for sure that there is a day somewhere in the future when he will be able to come back.

***

Bucky finds Steve in the garden, leaning to a tree and drawing. Steve glances at him as he sits down, and lays his sketchbook on the grass.

“You’re leaving,” Steve says, and Bucky is pathetically glad he didn’t actually have to say it.

“Yeah,” he admits, and that’s that, he could go back inside to pack up his things. Only something makes him push.

“Am I remembering wrong,” Bucky asks, “when I think giving up this easily isn’t that typical to you?”

Steve quirks his mouth in a way that’s far from a smile. “No, you’re not wrong. Guess some wisdom was bound to stick even in my head over the years. But truth is, I can tell this is something you need to do, so I’m not going to stop you.” Steve is quiet for a beat. “Besides, I suspect that if I asked you to stay and you did, it would all just go wrong at some point. And that’s the last thing I want.”

It’s a conflict inside Bucky’s head, part of him wants to argue further, wants to tell Steve to not just settle into things so passively, because it’s not like Steve at all. The rest of him is grateful that Steve has decided not to ask him to stay, because he isn’t at all sure he could deny Steve. That’s exactly why he has to go, to find out his own choices.

Bucky stands up, but there is one more thing he needs to ask.

“You say that I’m it for you, but have you thought you settled into it while I was gone? That you don’t really know who I am, because hell, I don’t know who I am now. What if I’m someone you won’t want after all?”

Steve looks up to him, even though he probably can’t see much since the sun is behind Bucky.

“I have thought of that, and I know we have ways to go, but it’s not that I don’t know you at all. We did spend time together, and I saw nothing in this new you that would want me to change my mind. It’s always been like that, every version of me has always fit with you. And if you have to go and become yet another version of you, then I’m sure we can still fit. You’re still you, the same way I’m still that kid you kept rescuing from back alley fights.”

Steve conviction is really too much to bear, even if something in Bucky’s chest stops constricting while Steve speaks. He nods and turns to walk back inside. Steve’s voice stops him after a few yards, and Bucky listens but doesn’t turn to look at Steve.

“Listen, I said it’s not about expectations or something like that. Maybe the way to look at it is that now I finally want to see what it can be. There always was a possibility of something happening between us, but neither one of us ever gave it a chance. We kept turning away from it, explaining it away. I’m not going to anymore.”

Bucky nods and finally walks away. He can’t help but wonder if it isn’t all too late already. Only he knows that every moment before now would have been too early. Maybe there is no right moment for them. Only time will tell.

 

* * *

 

#####  Backward – Another Beginning

Steve woke up into early morning. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming, but it still lingered over him, oppressive and suffocating. He lay on his bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, considering how he was feeling.

Truth was, he was scared.

He couldn’t quite articulate what he was afraid of, even if there were millions of reasons to be so. The weight of responsibility. The horrors ahead of them. Watching his team get killed. Watching  _ Bucky  _ get killed. Or something worse, something he’d already gotten a glimpse of in Zola’s lab. Failing.

Just about the only thing he wasn’t afraid of was dying, and that was because he’d gotten used to the idea that he wasn’t going to live until 30 a long time ago. That had been carved in so deep inside him that even with the serum it hadn’t really had time to dissipate yet, and now it was again the most likely outcome. He was a realist, he knew that the odds were that all of them, the whole team, were going to die. 

Back at home he’d heard more than once, ever since he was young, people saying that he had no fear. How could he, the way he kept sticking his nose into every back alley fight there was despite being so frail. How could he have fear the way he spoke his mind regardless of who heard him.

They all had it wrong. He had been, and still was, afraid of things, probably in a similar way that most people were. What was different was how he reacted to it. He’d decided a long time ago that since his body was failing him, he wouldn’t let his mind do it too. He’d conquer what he could, and that was why he never let fear paralyze him but spring him onward. That too had stayed, even if his body was no longer prone to betray him.

It had been the winter when he was fifteen years old when he’d first read Emerson. He’d been mostly confined to bed after an illness that had nearly killer him. A scarlet fever with a chaser of pneumonia. Bucky had brought him all kinds of books from the library to keep him in bed, even if Steve had often been too tired to read. There had been biographies, travelogues, pulp fictions, classics, and once a collection of Emerson’s essays. They’d gone down variably, sometimes Steve had found himself furrowing his brow at the ideas presented in them, but sometimes there had been nuggets of truth to be found. The one quote that had stayed with him was,  _ Always do what you are afraid to do. _ It hit him right in the core, the simple words for how he wanted to live. 

He had since lived by that advice, as well as his mother’s,  _ You always stand up. _ They were still the words he lived by.

He got out of the bed, washed and dressed into the uniform that was still stiff and new, but felt right. One thing was the same as ever; he still was afraid, but he wasn’t going to let it stop him.

It was two days until they’d head out, and this one was allocated for getting their supplies in order. They got their new field uniforms or supplements to what they had, weapons and survival supplies for their first mission. They checked that everything was in order, and that they had everything they’d need, but nothing more, since they’d have to go on foot part of the way.

When they were all ready they looked like a ragtag group; no two people had identical uniforms, but it suited Steve just fine. These were the right people for his team, he was sure of it. 

After dinner Steve went to look for Bucky and found him sitting on his bed cross legged, stitching something onto the sleeve of his jacket. Stepping closer, Steve saw it was a patch with the same wing pattern that he had on his helmet, and felt warm all over. There was deliberateness in the way Bucky went about it, the choice of color blue for his jacket and now the careful sewing. 

There couldn’t have been a more blatant way of saying,  _ I’m with him. _

Back at the bar Bucky had said he’d follow the boy from Brooklyn, and now he was setting out to carry the insignia of Captain America. The best thing was, Bucky knew the difference between them, and this here was not only a statement to everyone else, but to Steve too, that Bucky supported the way he’d chosen to fight.

Bucky had always known him better than anyone, and even if he’d been fairly regularly exasperated by Steve’s choices, he’d understood them. Steve had never explained Bucky about the feeling of fear and acting against it. He hadn’t needed to, because Bucky had always known.

Steve sat down next to Bucky and picked up his book from the floor. He found the scrap of paper marking the place, and began reading aloud. It was a familiar thing, they’d often read aloud for each other when the other was doing something else. The routine settled Steve, and he was fairly sure he wouldn’t have nightmares the next night.

***

Their first mission was mostly spent trying to figure out how to be a team. Most of them hadn’t fought together before, had only met during their time as prisoners. And Steve was the newest of them all, and meant to be their leader. It could have led to doubting, except he didn’t let it. This was his chance to do something significant with his life, and he wasn’t going to throw it away. All of them had said yes when he’d asked. It would have to be enough.

It wasn’t that difficult a mission, since the brass wisely had decided to ease them in as much as they could be. Of course, in their case easing in meant going against HYDRA and their experimental weapons and being outnumbered five to one if only the soldiers counted, ten to one if all personnel at the base were numbered. 

Truth be told, that part was easy.

The trip to the HYDRA base and back again took several weeks, partly driving, and walking the rest of the way. They had to figure out how to function as a group, how to get along as days stretched ahead of them.

There were rough edges to every one of them, but as Steve had hoped, they often clicked together rather than scraped against each other. By the time they were back at home base, Steve knew he had done the right thing following his instinct and asking these men.

Still the pressure was on him all the way, the learning curve ahead steep and tall, and it was hard, but then pretty much everything in his life had been like that, so it couldn’t intimidate him. He needed to be able to lead, and to figure out how to use his new body in the battle. He threw himself in it, because it was a sink or swim situation. Mostly he managed to stay afloat.

Bucky was there with him every step of the way, the most reliable of them all, as Steve had known he would be, helping Steve figure out things, offering advice when needed, but also trusting Steve and backing him up. 

It was the oddest thing of all, how they needed to figure out how to be around each other with Bucky too.

Not that many things had been easy in life for Steve, but his relationship with Bucky always had been one of them. They’d grown together, and every version of them had fit together. Now was the first time they had to learn how to do so again. Both of them had changed, and Steve could only wonder about what went on in Bucky’s head when he looked at Steve. Bucky didn’t talk about it, didn’t really ask questions either after Steve’s initial explanation.

Bucky was more distant, there was a shadow in his eyes, and he was closed off in a way Steve had never seen him. It didn’t feel like Bucky was hiding something, or even that he didn’t trust Steve. It was just there, a gap between them. There was a physical gap too, and Steve couldn’t help but notice it. Bucky had always been tactile, Steve only realized how much now that Bucky wasn’t anymore. He didn’t actively flinch when he was touched, but there were no more casual touches, no arm thrown around Steve’s shoulder, no leaning on each other.

Sometimes the couple of inches between them when they sat next to each other felt like a whole ocean, and Steve didn’t know how to bridge it. He himself had always been bad at initiating contact, and he still was. And now he missed it.

***

They came back to London, and it was the first time Steve saw Colonel Phillips and the rest of the brass truly start to believe in them and their mission. It felt like a bigger battle won than just one minor base taken down. This was what Erskine had meant for him.

They weren’t sent out again at once, and Steve spent all the free time he had practicing with his shield. He found empty warehouses and learned to throw it so that it came back to his hand. There was a thrill when it seemed to click in his head after hundreds and hundreds of throws, a pattern of lines and ricochets, all mapped in front of him.

The rest of them practiced too, and they kept doing so as they again moved off to the field. Little by little, as weeks and months passed they got better, learned how to fight as a unit instead of a group of individuals. 

The winter was hard, and it was spent mostly trying to get by, but as the weather warmed it felt like they really found their stride. They started to figure out fight patterns, how to use all of their individual skills in the most efficient ways, and unavoidably there were things they tried just because. It was astounding how many things one could do with one round vibranium shield.

They were on the move most of the time, sometimes just their group, sometimes as a part of the main army. And as any group they didn’t win all their battles, but they were lucky, since none of them died, none of them was even seriously wounded. There were close calls, but they made it through.

***

Sometimes things didn’t go to plan.

They had been tasked to intercept a small group of HYDRA, rumored to be carrying some new invention, a prototype weapon. It was supposedly a small convoy to thwart the suspicion. The intelligence checked out and the team set out, just the six of them, since the Allied forces were stretched as they were, and they needed to move fast. 

The plan was to ambush the convoy. Turned out they were being ambushed instead.

There were three HYDRA tanks and at least a hundred men, clearly indicating they were seen as a nuisance. Not an unreasonable conclusion, considering they’d already taken out two HYDRA strongholds, three counting the one in Austria, and ambushed three convoys. It would have been flattering if they hadn’t been about to die.

What saved them was that at the site they changed the plan slightly; decided to start the ambush from a different point. It meant that the HYDRA tanks fired at their presumed hiding place first.

“Phillips and Carter are going to have to weed out the personnel again,” Monty observed from where he was crouched next to Steve. 

Steve just nodded; it was obvious someone had sold their plan to HYDRA, as well as bringing them the wrong information. But it wasn’t the concern right then, Steve was busy formulating a plan on how to get them out of there. They were still hidden, but the HYDRA forces were already storming their assumed hide out, and it would be obvious they weren’t there. And they were at the only other logical place right now.

Bucky appeared next to Steve, silent as a shadow having abandoned his sniper’s nest. 

“How’s it look?” Steve asked.

Bucky just shook his head, meaning the only route out was blocked.

“Well, then,” Steve said to the team gathered around him, “looks like we’re going to have to fight our way out of here. We go now when we still have the element of surprise. Buck, you, Morita, Monty and Frenchie go from the left, take cover of the trees. Use those grenades Stark gave us. No time like present to see what they do. I, Gabe and Dum Dum go from right, hit first to distract them. Take out the tanks first.”

All of them nodded, and they ran out.

***

The made it out, bruised and battered and bleeding, but they did. After it was over, the HYDRA tanks were three piles of smoldering wrecks, and the men dead or running, they only stopped for immediately necessary first aid, and headed away. They knew that as soon as HYDRA knew they’d survived, there would be pursuit, and they were in no condition to take another hit.

It was a day of taking the survival and treating it as the victory it was.

For the next three days Steve didn’t sleep at all, making sure that his team got all the hours of sleep they possibly could. Bucky kept frowning at him, but at least he didn’t say anything about it. Steve had a wound from a bullet that had grazed his thigh but it was on the mend already. Bucky had scrapes and livid bruises on his ribs, even though he kept insisting his ribs were fine. Maybe they were, since he seemed to be getting better faster than broken bones would have allowed. Gabe definitely did have a broken rib, and Monty had a bullet through his left bicep, but they kept up with everyone else.

On the third day they passed into a territory that wasn’t under Nazi occupation, even if not really held by the Allied either. They were all exhausted by then, and finding an abandoned farm they decided to risk stopping there. They were fairly sure they were safe, since they hadn’t taken the planned exit route nor the backup route. It meant they had a longer trek to make before being able to contact anyone, but they also had a better chance to make it out alive, and that was all that mattered.

They found a stash of food cans in the house, which helped with their meager supplies. Soon they all had eaten their fill, their injuries had been checked and re-bandaged, or in Steve’s case proclaimed healed enough to go without, and everyone had settled down to sleep.

Steve had volunteered to take the first watch, because he’d still felt restless, the leftover adrenaline having left him jumpy. He knew he was tired, and that he should try to sleep once it came Bucky’s time to take the watch, but he wasn’t at all sure if he could.

He was standing outside, leaning on the wall an hour and half into his two hour shift when the door to the house opened. Bucky came out and settled to lean on the wall next to Steve, striking out a match to light up. For a minute they didn’t talk, Steve breathed in the familiar smell of cigarettes that didn’t get into his lungs anymore.

“You still had a half an hour to sleep,” Steve finally broke the silence.

“Restless,” Bucky shrugged and flicked away the cigarette butt before turning to look at Steve. “You’re too.”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “I was hoping that taking the first watch would give me time to settle, but it hasn’t really.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just kept looking at Steve, his features shadowed by the late dusk. Steve could tell Bucky indeed was restless as he’d said, and even smoking apparently hadn’t settled him. Instead he seemed to be about ready to vibrate right out of his skin.

Afterward Steve couldn’t have said who initiated the touch, who reached for whom. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe they both did. What happened was that he dragged Bucky close by the lapels of his jacket, Bucky’s hands fisted into his uniform. There was no purpose, no thought when they pressed against each other. There was only instinct and need.

Steve was rock hard in a moment, and Bucky was too. The pressure against each other was wonderful, but he needed more, needed skin. Bucky seemed to have had the same idea, or he just could instantaneously follow Steve, since his hands were at Steve’s fly the second Steve reached out to open the buttons in Bucky’s pants. 

Steve had a hard time stifling the groan that wanted to escape when he felt Bucky’s hand on him, deft and strong fingers circling his cock, and another when he got his own hands on Bucky. There was no finesse to it, just the drive for release, and they set a fast pace. Steve settled against the wall and closed his eyes, concentrated on just feeling and listening to their harsh breathing and stifled gasps. Bucky settled his forehead on Steve’s shoulder and stayed there, shuddering as he came, the warm spill over Steve that set him right over the edge. 

They didn’t hurry to move away from each other, but soon the wind of the spring night became too chilly. Bucky cleaned them up with his handkerchief and leaned against the wall again, just looking at Steve. Steve found that it wasn’t hard at all to look back at Bucky. He was vaguely conscious that it might have been, but it wasn’t. They had been so close to each other for most of their lives that this didn’t really feel that much of a step at all, to help each other even with this on the battlefield.

Because it had helped. Steve felt relaxed for the first time since they’d left the base camp for the mission, and Bucky looked settled like Steve didn’t remember seeing him since he left New York. It felt easy, standing there with Bucky under the European skies. It felt like they’d finally found how their new edges fit together.

They didn’t talk, just stood there for ten more minutes, until Bucky said, “My watch now. Get some sleep, otherwise you’ll collapse and none of us wants to have to lug you back.”

Inside Steve barely got horizontal before his eyes closed, the newfound relaxation helping him into sleep.

***

It became a semi-regular thing for Steve and Bucky after that while they were on the field, high on adrenaline, on victory, or just survival, sometimes still shaken by almost dying, almost seeing the other die. They found some place shielded from everyone else and got each other off, breathing hard but otherwise silent. Skin on skin, feeling more alive than ever, more grounded in the knowledge that it was real, that they were both still there.

Afterward always came the moment of relaxation, the nerves and adrenaline and fear and victory shed like water off them, leaving just Steve and Bucky, at peace for a moment.

They never talked about it. At first it felt like there was no need, and maybe sometimes Steve wanted to, but Bucky most definitely didn’t, and so Steve didn’t push. It wasn’t like it caused problems anyway.

It was easy with Bucky on the field, almost the same way it had been in Brooklyn. Everything around them had changed, they had changed too, but this, the core of them now that they’d found it was the same as ever. It felt like together they could take on everything, only now poverty and illness and cold had been replaced by the war and HYDRA. Still it was the same, the two of them back to back.

Around them was their team, and they all had clicked together, knew how to act, knew what it sounded like when one of them was afraid and needed support, knew when one of them needed to be left in peace and when it was the best to seek every chance to laugh they had. They’d grown to trust each other, to fight together and to know what they could ask of each other. They knew that when under fire, they all might be scared as hell, but it wouldn’t prevent them from doing their jobs. It was why the team worked.

***

It was less easy when they were at the base between missions. They didn’t have down time that much, a few days here and there, but more often than not it felt tricky to Steve. On one hand he was happy to see Peggy and the rest, but there was always a distance between him and Bucky that crept in, and he couldn’t figure out why.

It would have been easy to say that having sex, for all that it didn’t mean anything in the usual sense was the catalyst, but Steve knew it wasn’t, the difficulty had been there before, and it was unchanged after. It was something else, something he grasped at blindly, but couldn’t quite reach.

On the field they were a team, but at the base there was a separation between Steve and the rest of them that came from outside. There was a barrier between officers and the rest, and while that didn’t much exist when it was just the seven of them, at base they fell into the usual patterns. It was both work as well as socializing that took Steve on different paths away from his team, and he accepted it for what it was, a necessity, but he couldn’t deny he didn’t wait every second to be on the way again.

The good thing about being back at the base was spending time with Peggy, often working, sometimes socializing. They’d settled into a sort of comfortable pattern, had found an equilibrium that worked for them. It helped Steve to relax and talk to her, working together and concentrating on that instead of her, and in turn he found it easier and easier to talk to her about other things too.

They talked about anything and everything in among doing the paperwork and planning things. They talked about their families, Steve told her about his mother and her inexhaustible strength and kindness, and Peggy told him about her brother who’d inspired her into truly chasing her dreams. They talked about books and art and what kind of a world they hoped to one day see, and it was easy, being with Peggy was easy.

Steve fell in love with her a little more every day. 

Sometimes he found himself wanting things; there was a flutter in his stomach when she moved around to find something, always graceful. The wanting wasn’t desperate and instant though, it felt more like a content sort of anticipation. He was waiting, and it wasn’t hard, because there were things they needed to do, and it wasn’t their time yet. That would come later.

Steve while at the base spent time with Peggy and Howard, had dinner with the other officers present, trying to keep good relations, since he knew every once in a while their team would need support. It wasn’t that hard, even if it was all too political for his taste, and he often yearned to be at the bar with the rest of the team, to have a good time and not think about every word he said.

He still spent time with his team too, prepping for missions, planning the strategy or training, but it wasn’t the same as on field where they spent every hour together. He mostly saw Bucky in the early hours. Steve didn’t need that much sleep these days, and Bucky didn’t seem to sleep too well either. It worried Steve, but he didn’t know how to ask in a way that Bucky wouldn’t either ignore or shut out right away by insisting he was fine. 

It became a habit of theirs, to take early morning walks before it was time for breakfast, Bucky smoking his cigarette at some point of the way, Steve breathing in the smoke. It was companionable; sometimes they talked, sometimes not, and it was never uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the same as it was on the road if they happened to be up together and just sit.

There was something on Bucky’s mind, Steve could tell, but knew well it wouldn’t help to pry. Sometimes he caught Bucky just looking at him in a way he couldn’t decipher, and it was always gone before he had time to figure it out. Maybe it was some kind of apprehension, but he couldn’t tell what about.

***

(Years later, or decades, depending on how one wanted to look at it, Steve would look back and shake his head at himself, at the blindness. And even if he by then would have learned, at least a little bit, to acknowledge that hindsight was always perfect, he still blamed himself for everything that happened at the end of the war and after. He blamed himself even if he knew it didn’t really help to dwell on the mistakes of the past, only to learn from them and move on.)

 

* * *

#####  Forward – Running

For the last thing that night Bucky goes to find King T’Challa. He owes a debt that can’t be repaid, for safety both physical and within his head. All he has is his thanks.

He finds the king in his quarters, doing some paperwork, but not busy. They talk for a while, about guilt and a need to find peace, a place for one inside the world.

“I have since young age been prepared to take the throne,” T’Challa explains, “but still I didn’t know what it meant to rule, not until I had to do it myself. I only understood the weight of the king’s choices when I wielded that power. There’s less room for mistakes when your one word can move armies. I’m still learning, and you must learn too, I think, learn who you are and what your choices mean.”

“That’s why I have to go,” Bucky says.

“I know. It is the right choice, I believe. You have to be yourself first, am I right?”

“Yes.”

They talk for a while more before Bucky leaves. He feels T’Challa truly understood him in this, and his reasons. He thinks Wakanda has a good king, and it is invaluable to have him on their side.

That night he sleeps in the room that was given to him. The mattress is probably exactly the same as in Steve’s room, but he can’t get comfortable, and only dozes.

***

Bucky’s packing his things, enough to get by but not too much to carry. A few changes of clothes, very real fake IDs, some protein bars and fruit to get him started and a large bottle of water. Weapons chosen for their concealability and their weight to power ratio. All of it goes on top of his old notebooks that are still in their wrapping. He doesn’t like the idea that other people have read them even if they probably are tricky to decipher for anyone but him. It still makes his skin crawl, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still needs them.

He’s momentarily lost in thought, which means he’s only aware of Steve when he’s already at his door, knocking on the door frame. Part of Bucky would have preferred to make it away without having to see Steve at all, but that’s the cowardly part. And it would be unfair to Steve, one more thing for him to carry. Bucky’s ready to go, though, and he turns to look at Steve, who’s dressed for training, probably for another session with the Dora Milaje. Steve’s expression is calm, steady, albeit clearly an effort is made to keep it that way. He’s got something in his hands, and when he steps in Bucky sees they are notebooks. Bucky takes them when Steve offers them, the question in his eyes.

“They’re from when you were under. What you missed. Some other things from before. If you want,” Steve says, and Bucky isn’t sure if he actually wants to open them at all. He still takes them.

Steve hands him another book, the title in Russian.  Ма́стер и Маргари́та . He remembers their talk right after he’d properly regained consciousness after coming back from ice, asking what Steve liked most about the book.

“I hear it’s always best to read books in their original language if you can,” Steve says, and Bucky knows the gesture for what it is. Steve learned a bit of Russian during the War, but all of Bucky’s is from after the fall. And here Steve is, offering him entertainment in the language, acknowledging that part of Bucky as something that’s not to be shunned.

“Looks too new for you to have read this,” Bucky says, fully aware of the deflection.

“I didn’t, my Russian isn’t quite there. Yet, anyway,” Steve just says, still calm and collected, so much that it gets on Bucky’s nerves.

“I hate that you’re so well-adjusted,” Bucky says, knowing full well how petulant he sounds.

“Well, I’ve had nine months to figure things out,” Steve says, still neutral but with a hint of something that certainly sounds like resentment.

It’s the first time that it’s happened, all the while before Steve has only shown acceptance, and sometimes sadness, but this is different. Bucky fully knows he deserves it too, but can’t help pointing it out.

“I’ve heard all your reasons for not expecting things but it doesn’t sound like you’re too happy about all this.”

Steve sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m not. But I was honest before when I said that I don’t expect anything from you, just hope for things. You’re right about this too. They both can be true, because people are complicated like that, I know you know it.” Bucky nods and offers a small smile that’s more sad than anything that doesn’t draw a reply from Steve probably the first time ever. “Sometimes people need different things, incompatible things, to manage. Life is just like that.”

Bucky’s heart aches, and right then he wants nothing more than for their needs and wants to not be incompatible, but Steve is right. Life isn’t like that. And right now Bucky is well aware that the burden again lands mostly on Steve due to the choices he made all those month ago. He also knows that if he said any of that, Steve would deny it, would say he’s made his own share of choices. Hence Bucky doesn’t say anything, just puts the books on top of everything, closes the pack and hoists it up.

Steve fishes a phone from his pocket and offers it to Bucky. “Here, just in case you need to get in touch. It’s Wakandan, so no one else can trace it. There are everyone’s numbers, but only I know yours. And I won’t call you unless you want me to.”

Bucky takes the phone, and nods his thanks.

“Will you message me occasionally, just so I know you’re fine?” Steve asks, and Bucky can tell he wants to bite his tongue off right after.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he says, and the promise feels easy. “Every Sunday morning Wakandan time.”

Steve looks relieved when they walk out of Bucky’s room, and now he’s really leaving. Bucky’s been trying to tell himself he’s not running, but he knows he really is. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, after he woke up. They were supposed to have grown apart, Steve should have moved on along during the time when Bucky stayed still. And it happened and it didn’t. Steve moved on in a way Bucky couldn’t predict, and Bucky didn’t put breaks on what his body wants. What’ll happen now is anyone’s guess.

“Are you going to walk me out?” Bucky asks, and he doesn’t really know what he aims at with his tone, but it comes out all wrong.

“I don’t think I have that in myself,” Steve says, stopping, expression brittle. Bucky just nods, because he has nothing he can say to that, maybe the first admission of any kind of weakness from Steve, who continues, “Your ride’s through the back door.”

It is just like Steve to make sure he gets on the way easily, and Bucky heads out, because there’s no use delaying. At the door he turns back one last time. Steve is still standing there looking at him.

“Steve? Will you message me when you’re going after HYDRA? Just. I’d like to know.” He doesn’t know what he’ll do with the knowledge, just knows he’ll need it.

Steve swallows and says, voice shaky, “Will do.”

Outside, the quinjet is at the ready on the stone yard, and Wanda is standing next to it.

“You can fly this?” Bucky questions.

“Of course I can. Wanted to make sure you won’t get mugged before you even get out of the city,” she says, light, but it’s probably not an unreasonable concern. After all, the former king was still murdered by Zemo to get an access to Bucky. “Come on, I even asked permission from Steve, didn’t steal the keys.”

“I don’t think this thing has keys,” Bucky says climbing in after her, oddly touched by her gesture.

“Details,” she dismisses, wiggling her fingers and making the door close without either of them touching the controls.

***

Wanda drops him off at Tsarevo, Bulgaria. Bucky chose eastern Europe, knowing it’ll be easiest to lose himself there among the people, at the beginning at least. He finds a truck driver willing to give him a ride for a bit, one that doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking too much. It suits Bucky just fine.

Three days later he’s in Oradea, eastern Romania, and he’s fairly sure no one’s tracking him, unless it’s Wakandans with the phone, but he’s willing to leave that one up in the air. He knows for a fact Steve isn’t;  that he hasn’t asked anyone to keep tabs on Bucky. He would have said if he did, but it’s not the kind of a thing Steve would do anyway. Bucky decides to stop at the town for a while, and finds a tiny cheap hotel with cooking facilities in the rooms. He stocks up essentials at the grocery store in the corner, easily slipping into Romanian again.

He rigs up the door and windows with traps to alert him if anyone tries to enter, moves the bed so he can sleep in it without being visible through the window, pulls the curtains closed and curls in. It’s easier to fall asleep alone here, thousands of miles between him and Steve, no possibility of just walking out to find him. 

He wakes up every hour and half to check his surroundings, but other than that he sleeps fine for almost twelve hours. When he wakes up he lies in the bed, just staring at the ceiling. 

He’s looking for himself, and it’s perhaps the hardest thing to do. To find something that’s always with you, never away. It would be easier to find something external, an object or another person. Then he’d know where to start. Now he has no idea.

The phone beeps with the alert he’s put up for himself, just in case he’ll lose the track of days. It’s Sunday morning, and he made a promise.

_ Still here, no trouble,  _ he texts to Steve.

It takes a few minutes before the phone beeps with a reply. There’s no text, just a digital doodle of Wanda curled up in a kitchen chair with a book and her breakfast.

Bucky looks at it for a while before hauling himself up and into the shower. Breakfast is as good a starting point as any.

***

After eating and checking again that he’s safe, Bucky digs out the notebooks he wrote while on the run from the bottom of his pack. They’re still marked with evidence tape.

It still bothers him, to know someone he doesn’t know and certainly doesn’t care about has read them, has tried to gather information about him from them, and probably made a report to higher ups. Someone tried to find out what kind of a person he is, what makes him tick, what are his strengths and weaknesses. Bucky wonders if there was any significant information to be gathered from the books. They’re mostly incoherent, but he can guess there are some very telling patterns. It probably wouldn’t take a genius to figure out some ways to pressure him. Certainly not the one that would be guaranteed to work. Granted, it would probably blow right in the faces of anyone foolish enough to try, but the cost of it would be dear to Bucky too.

He pushes all that aside, and starts reading the notes in the order of writing. Unsurprisingly the earliest ones are mostly fragments, and even what he remembered well, he described in a sort of detached way that he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate now. He’s a lot more of a person now instead of a tool. There’s no timeline to the notes, a childhood memory might be followed by something from a mission in the eighties followed by a single glimpse, an image more than a memory, of the apartment in Brooklyn followed by the war.

All the while he’d clearly been chasing the same question as he is now. Who is he?

Except, maybe it isn’t really the same question. Back then, he chased after the man named James Buchanan Barnes, and it’s still his name, but he’s no longer trying to find out who he was. He’s different now, and he has to find out what the person he is now is like and what he wants to do. It doesn’t matter what choices the man from before the fall would have made, because he is gone. The Bucky that is now is that man ground to pieces and put into fire. The Bucky that is now is the man that put himself back together.

He reads the notebooks straight through, and surfaces the next morning, starving. He eats most of the food he has and collapses into the bed. He sleeps in three hour segments this time.

He wakes up at midnight, restless, and he checks out at the first light. He walks this time, continuing toward north-west. He crosses over to Hungary in the afternoon and arrives at Debrecen the next morning. He finds a small bed and breakfast place at the outskirts of the city, run by an elderly couple, and holes into a room again.

He reads the notebooks again, slower this time, figuring out what they say about him instead of what he was trying to chase after as he wrote them. The obvious thing is that he was really chasing after two people. He was looking for himself, but Steve is there every step of the way too. Most of his memories and experiences up until the train are somehow tangled with Steve. It is some kind of an answer, although not really anything that surprises him.

It becomes a pattern for the next several weeks; he stays for a few days at shabby places, reads the notebooks, moves on. Mostly he walks, and as the spring moves forward, it becomes pleasant enough. Sometimes he even sleeps under the stars. 

He texts Steve every Sunday as he promised, always short, some variation of the first message. Steve always sends back a digital doodle. There is Sam, staring at a colorful Wakandan bird. There are the Dora Milaje, graceful and powerful. There’s T’Challa, smiling and relaxed, and the Black Panther poised for action. There’s scenery, probably from Steve’s runs, plants and animals Bucky has no names for. It’s all from Steve’s life, but it’s not quite Steve himself.

Day by day Bucky makes progress, sorts out who he is now, what parts of that were made by HYDRA, and which of them were crafted earlier, by the poverty and war. They’re not so different from each other, and now he finally can squarely look at it, acknowledge it. It is what he has become, in reaction to how the world has treated him. Maybe he did make himself, and maybe it’s useless to lament what he is now. All he can do is move forward, decide what to do with the hands that these days know killing perhaps better than anything.

Yet, he already knows that it’s not just killing that his hands know.

***

It’s a Wednesday in the early summer when Bucky’s phone beeps. His heart rate picks up as he types in his password, because no one ever messages him on a Wednesday. No one ever messages him, period, outside of Steve in reply to his status updates on Sundays. 

It’s Steve now too, and the reason is expected; they’re going after HYDRA the following day. They’ve uncovered a small op in Marseille, and will take it down. It doesn’t sound like much, since they’re not all going, just Steve, Sam, Nat and Clint, which suggests stealth rather than brute force.

Bucky thinks about it for fifteen seconds, then just sends,  _ Don’t do anything stupid. _ He gets back a grinning emoji.

He goes to the grocery store to stock up and retreats back to his room.

***

The next day feels endless; time is stretching in a way he doesn’t really remember happening for him recently. He can’t distract himself, can’t think about anything in particular, can’t read his notebooks. Besides, he pretty much knows them inside out already, there isn’t that much to find in them anymore.

The clock ticks on until the dusk falls, until it’s the planned go time for Steve and the rest. Bucky gets up, paces through his room twice, and stops. He very deliberately digs out the book Steve gave him from the backpack, and opens it. He hasn’t yet touched it, but now he reads.

Somehow he manages to concentrate on the book and not his concerns. It’s captivating, he has to give it that, and Steve was right about the sense of humor being his kind of a thing. Still, he isn’t quite sure why Steve wanted to give this particular book to him. Maybe it is just because Steve thought he’d enjoy it, but the way he refused to say why he likes it suggests something more. Bucky just can’t see what it is.

The Satan and his troupe and the people all obsessed in various ways about things are all fun to read about. The chapters set in Jerusalem telling of Pilate are captivating enough. Bucky spots the man that must be the titular Master, and he seems to have a small role, although he seems to be obsessed in a different way from everyone else, concerned about a different truth. The book is enjoyable, but Bucky can’t find the why. Still, it passes time easily enough.

He’s just at the end of the first part when his phone beeps again, Steve texting all clear. Bucky feels the so far unnoticed tension draining from his shoulders. The dawn is just breaking over the roofs, and he puts the book away and goes to sleep.

***

Bucky’s aware of them as soon as they make him. There are four agents, probably HYDRA, certainly capable but nothing that would bother him. He could get out, could lose them and leave them hanging, but he doesn’t. They’re in Trakai, Lithuania, and he decides right then that it’s too much of a HYDRA territory to spend any more time in. He’s going to leave them something to think of, though.

He walks at a leisurely pace, as if he hasn’t seen them yet, and knows they’re following. He heads for a quieter part of the town, which should play into their hands, as far as they know. He finally crosses a street, heads for an alley, and hears them speed up. They must know now that he’s noticed them, but they keep coming.

Right when they’re at the mouth of the alley, he turns, and they show their cards.

“Еще ты дремлешь, друг прелестный,” one of them speaks clearly, a phrase that wasn’t on the list of additional commands in the book. It doesn’t matter.

There isn’t even a stutter in his brain, but Bucky pauses, stance loose, waiting. Clearly the agents must think it has worked, since they relax and all come close to him, which is what he wants. As soon as they’re within reach, he moves.

It’s over before it really starts. Three of them down, unconscious, and the fourth frozen in Bucky’s grasp, wrist bones creaking with the squeeze of the metal hand, fear palpable in her eyes. 

“As you can see, that doesn’t work anymore,” Bucky tells her. “None of it does, my head is my own. Run back to your masters and tell them the Winter Soldier won’t fight for them ever again.”

He lets her go and the agent stays there for a moment gaping at him, clearly not believing he would just let her leave. Finally he raises an eyebrow at her and it seems to shatter the shock, and she runs.

Bucky finds a bunch of sturdy cable ties on one of the unconscious agents, useless for containing him but good enough for them. He ties them all up, crushes all their electronics and heads out. On the way he texts the location to Steve; he can have someone to come and pick them up. 

He’s out of town in less than an hour.

***

As the summer passes Bucky feels more settled in himself. He still has nightmares, and days when it’s hard to think of anything but blood and bodies, but mostly he is fine. The active phase of recovering his memories has passed. He still knows that things might come back with the right trigger, but there’s no longer a continuous stream of things coming back. Now the memories feel like his too, for good and bad. There’s no detachment, and it makes it easier to accept that he once was a boy in Brooklyn. It also makes it harder to not think of what he did.

He’s slowly building up the kind of man he is, things that are the same from decades ago, and things that are new. He’s changed, and he can’t go back, but he thinks that he wouldn’t want to, not anymore. This is who he is now, and it has been bought with pain and suffering, with moments of kindness and joy, and he won’t give it up.

He knows too that he’s not the only one that has changed. No one can pass through decades and decades without changing, and Bucky already has seen the man that Steve has become. Familiar but with aspects that are new. There are edges now in Steve that Bucky doesn’t know, but maybe it doesn’t matter. There are new edges in him too.

It’s been weeks and months since he last saw Steve, and maybe it’s the time and the distance now that makes him finally dig out the other set of notebooks, the ones that Steve wrote. And drew, he sees as he opens one of them. It’s not exactly a surprise that there are sketches among the text. All the entries are dated, very much unlike Bucky’s, and he finds the first one. Thinking back, he determines Steve started writing less than two weeks after Bucky entered stasis.

He mostly spends the day reading. It’s slow going, as he wants to absorb every word. It’s hot in his tiny motel room, and he has to regularly pop out to get more drinking water. It’s a break from reading, which is about as heavy as he expected. Steve doesn’t much talk about his inner life in the notes, he sticks to describing his days, Wakanda and their plans to take out HYDRA. Still, there is unhappiness in every line, right under the meaning. Bucky makes himself read every word.

Steve also talks about their past, back from before the train. As far as Bucky can tell Steve’s going backward in his memories; in the first book it’s all about the war, not really their missions there, but the intervals, their team, and the two them.

By now Bucky’s got a fairly good grasp of his own memories; he knows what is true and what is constructed from his imagination. Hence he knows for a fact that they used to have sex during the war, but sometimes it still feels unreal, like he doubts it happening, even after everything that they did in Wakanda. Steve writing about it solidifies it, and also gives him a reason why it has felt so slippery in his head. 

Steve writes they never talked about it, almost didn’t acknowledge it any more than they’d acknowledge sitting next to each other by the campfire. With that a memory comes back; Bucky remembers having been determined to not think about it, just so he wouldn’t have to try and decide what it meant. He hadn’t wanted anything complicated. 

Another thing he remembers is being pressed against Steve and thinking it is wrong, but not because it was Steve, or because they were both men. It felt wrong that Steve was taller than him, strong and muscled instead of slim and frail. That is a whole another box to unpack, how he felt about Steve’s change, and he doesn’t really feel up to it.

It’s probably inevitable that with the realization that he was conflicted about Steve’s change comes the worry about how Steve might feel about his. Except he doesn’t have to worry. He already knows how Steve reacts to the touch of his metal hand. Bucky saw no conflict there.

It is another thing that is different about him now. The man he’s now doesn’t yearn for the Steve before the serum. That was the Bucky from before the fall, the part that even in the war wanted to go back but couldn’t, since Steve wasn’t going to leave. The Bucky that he is now fits with the Steve that is now, the one that can go toe to toe with him in a fight and only lose by choice.

It is Steve’s choices that do worry about him, but not his body.

He reads on, and comes to a line,  _ I wondered then what would happen if I just kissed you, but I didn’t. I was afraid to find out. _ He puts the book down at that, unable to go on.

That night Bucky doesn’t really sleep, just tosses and turns in his bed. He checks out early morning, and starts walking, the brisk pace calming his nerves. At mid-morning he pulls out the phone, and opens the texting app. It’s Thursday.

_ How’s Wakanda?  _ Bucky sends before he can talk himself out of it.

The reply comes less than a minute later. 

_ About the same, last I saw. I’m not there now though. _ Steve elaborates a moment later,  _ I moved to Cornwall. _

It’s a surprise, and Bucky’s about to ask why, but decides he can do so later. 

_ I don’t know if you’re able to pass for a local. Carter used to laugh at you when you tried her accent on. _

Bucky types the message in and hits send, and only then wonders where the memory came.

_ True, but I’m not trying. I’m the eccentric American, seeking solitude. Helps that there are no neighbors for miles, _ Steve explains.

Next comes a photo of a coastline, cliffs falling into ocean and small sandy coves.  _ The views are pretty great. And I like that it’s not as hot around here, _ Steve writes.

_ You never liked the heat, but I thought you’d have gotten used to it by now, _ Bucky sends back.  _ Are the rest still in Wakanda? _

_ No. Sam’s with Nat in France, and Wanda is in Seoul, staying with Helen Cho. _

Bucky can think of nothing else to say, so he pockets the phone and walks on. An hour later he digs it back out and sends,  _ Why the book? _

_ How far along are you? _ The almost instantaneous reply makes it clear Steve isn’t about to just tell him.

_ At the end of the first part. _

_ Read on then, you’ll see. _

Bucky tucks the phone back inside his pocket.

 

* * *

 

#####  Backward – The New Man

The dawn was lighting up the small room. Steve hadn’t slept, and he could feel the familiar signs of exhaustion, the slightly more pronounced chest pain, the shortness of breath. It was okay though, he didn’t need to go to work. In three days he’d have to report at Camp Lehigh.

He was staring at the sturdy yellowish form, and the stamped 1A on it. 1A after so many 4Fs. He’d been staring at the form all night. For most of it he couldn’t actually see any writing, just the shape of it in front of him on his bed where he was sitting cross legged. 

It almost didn’t feel real, and in a way it was more real than anything that morning.

There were sounds coming from the neighboring apartments, people getting ready to start their day. Steve got up to his feet too, his knees creaking and back complaining for not having moved in hours. He made himself a cup of coffee and clambered out of the window to drink it on the fire escape.

He didn’t think about his upcoming, possibly short career as a soldier right then. Up there, sitting on the metal that was uncomfortably cool after the night, all he could think of was the ship full of soldiers that was about to sail out of the harbor. The ship that was about to take Bucky away with it. Steve knew all too well that the previous night at the fair might have been the last time he ever saw Bucky. It was a fear that had gnawed his insides ever since Bucky was accepted and Steve rejected while enlisting, and it had only grown during the time Bucky had spent away, learning everything he needed to become a soldier, rising through ranks to become a sergeant. Now he was gone in a way that felt all to final, about to sail across the sea.

Steve gulped down the last of his coffee that had already cooled while he was thinking, and climbed back in. He pulled the curtains closed and went to bed, not feeling at all refreshed by the drink.

***

The next two days were hectic; Steve spent the time packing things up and saying goodbyes. He gave Mrs. Barnes the keys and promised to send the money for rent, same as Bucky would do from the front. She looked at him with such a worry, clearly wanting to tell him to stay. Steve was grateful she didn’t. 

He did wonder what she would tell Bucky in her letters, but pushed the thought away. Whatever it was Bucky would only get it weeks if not months later.

On the last night, an hour before the sunset he climbed up all the way to the roof, sat there and drew the scenery. He’d sat up there many times before, although always with Bucky. After Bucky had left, Steve hadn’t felt like going up, because it was their place. He did now, letting himself miss Bucky, and miss Brooklyn even if he hadn’t yet left. 

He was hopeful now too, maybe they would be reunited sooner rather than later.

***

At Camp Lehigh, standing in the row with all the other recruits Steve very decidedly didn’t let himself feel like he stood out, even if he knew he did. He gripped tightly at the thought that Doctor Erskine had seen something in him, and that this was his chance. He was also very conscious it was his only chance. He had to succeed here, for whatever it was that he was trying out for. 

Agent Carter had a hell of a punch, and seeing it Steve felt his lips curve into a smile. It was like a jolt of lightning inside him, the knowledge that she was something special. He remembered feeling the same about meeting someone only once before, years and years earlier when Bucky had stepped in and pushed at an older boy that had knocked Steve down. That time Steve had been half mad at Bucky for putting his nose into other people’s business, but that hadn’t lasted long. Now, seeing her, he was full of admiration.

The next days were rough, but Steve pushed through. Sometimes his heart was beating so hard he was half sure it was about to burst, but he didn’t let it stop him. It was all or nothing. 

His admiration toward Agent Carter continued to grow, both because she was clearly highly competent, and because she treated him like she treated everyone else. When she looked at him, Steve could tell she saw a person and not someone to ignore due to his physical stature. Not that they talked much; she didn’t really socialize with the recruits. They did converse a bit in the car after Steve had grabbed the flag. She laughed almost all the way back at the faces of the other recruits, complimented him on using his head, and it was the best time Steve had had in a long while.

***

When the choice came, when Steve learned he had indeed succeeded and had been chosen to receive the serum, it was a relief, but laced with doubt. They’d told him about the risks, and it couldn’t deter him, but the knowledge of there being only one chance was all the more vivid.

On the last night he didn’t sleep much after Dr. Erskine left. He lay in his cot, staring at the ceiling, and wondered again whether he’d seen the last of Bucky that night at the fair. He hadn’t heard anything of Bucky yet, although there realistically hadn’t been enough time yet for any kind of correspondence to reach him. Now though, it wasn’t Bucky’s life but his own he wondered about. The procedure, if it failed, might very well kill him. He hadn’t been afraid of dying for the longest time, but he would have regrets, things he would have wanted to do. 

He wanted to go to Europe and meet up with Bucky there. He wanted to get to know Agent Carter better.

The next day would tell whether he’d be able to.

***

The procedure itself was an agony. As soon as the chamber closed and filled with vitarays, Steve felt like he was splitting in pieces. He tasted blood on his tongue, felt his heart hammering and bursting. They wanted to stop but he told them not to. It was the only chance, since he was already dying. The only way was forward.

Finally the light died, the chamber opened, and he was free of pain for the first time he remembered.

***

Looking into a mirror for the first time after was the most shocking thing of the day, and it was saying something. After all Steve had gone through a successful science experiment, witnessed Dr. Erskine being murdered, chased after the murderer, caught a car by foot, and stopped a submarine by swimming down and punching at it. Thinking of it, it all felt ludicrous, straight out of the pulp novels they’d read with Bucky when they were young and admittedly when they were not so young anymore.

After everything he’d been given a room at the Brooklyn base to stay the night. It was utilitarian and bare, but at least there was an actual bed instead of a cot. He wasn’t sure one of those would hold him anymore. There would be more debriefing, blood tests and whatever the next day, and who knew what after it. For now, all he could do was wait.

There was a tiny mirror on the wall, barely enough to shave with but what he did see unsettled him. Like everyone, he knew what he was supposed to look like, and he didn’t anymore. Some things were the same; the color of his hair and the eyes, but the whole shape of his face had changed. For a while he stared into the mirror, feeling almost queasy, until he couldn’t anymore. He got into the bed, suddenly exhausted, and slept. 

He woke up in the middle of the night, not that he could tell without looking at his watch, since there were no windows. His knees were stiff and hurting, and he felt a chill down his spine. Was the serum not working after all? Was he becoming sick again? Then he remembered Erskine speculating that if the procedure was successful, there might be some residual pain for days afterward, the same kind of pain that happened to young people during a growth spurt. Steve wasn’t really familiar with it, since he’d never really had a growth spurt, but he remembered being fifteen and Bucky suddenly shooting up and out, being always hungry and complaining that his knees hurt.

He got up and stretched, took a few steps and it got a bit better. He caught a glimpse of his reflection again and stopped to look at himself. It was still like looking at a stranger.

The worst part was that Steve hadn’t really understood how thorough the change would be until after the fact. Maybe no one had, no one certainly had mentioned it to him. They’d talked about how he would be stronger and faster, not to mention harder to hurt, but no one had told him about the other changes, the ones inside his head. He was thinking differently now, he could tell. He remembered better, he could read faster, and make decisions in a way he didn’t used to. 

All of that by itself wasn’t bad, but he couldn’t help but think about what else was different, if he was different somehow fundamentally. Was the Steve he was now close enough to the one before that they could be called the same person?

He tried to sleep some more but woke up less than two hours later with a nightmare. In it everything he’d hoped for had come true; he’d made it to the front, he’d met Bucky there, safe and healthy. It had been perfect, until the Bucky in his dream had looked at him and hadn’t recognized him.

Steve’s heart was hammering fast enough it felt like it was about to burst, except with it didn’t come the usual shortness of breath, and it slowed down soon enough to the slow steady beating that was becoming familiar. It was only a couple of hours until he was supposed to be up anyway, so Steve washed his face and shaved, and then dug up his sketchbook and pencil.

It was another moment of heartbreak, because he couldn’t really draw anymore. He thought he should have realized that since all of the muscles and bones in his hands had changed, of course it meant the fine coordination was different. He could do everyday tasks just fine, but drawing was much more precise. He’d have to get used to it again, but he didn’t have the heart for it that morning.

He ended up staring at the ceiling until it was time for him to report.

***

Peggy looked at him just the same as she had before the serum, and Steve was immensely grateful for it.

Colonel Phillips looked at him much the same as he had before the serum, and it was another blow. He’d made it, the serum had worked, and he still wasn’t good enough.

***

Steve relearned to draw. It took him a while, weeks before it felt like his hand was cooperating again, but it probably was a welcome distraction. After he’d found that he wouldn’t be going to the front after all, that his choices were to either be their lab rat or take Senator Brandt up for his offer, he hadn’t really felt satisfied.

He tried to tell himself that he was helping, that the war bonds sold better everywhere they toured and that could mean life or death at the front, but it felt hollow. He went through the motions, both on stage and among the public, and he got good at it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. The opposite really. He got more and more frustrated each day that passed.

The drawing helped, both with the boredom of travel and to calm him, gave him something he liked to do even when he felt useless. He drew the more mundane aspects of his new life, the women of the troupe during the quiet moments on the backstage or the bus, a lot of scenery. Sometimes he drew from memory, Brooklyn and the people he knew there. 

Sometimes he drew Peggy, even when it felt like maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe he wasn’t quite allowed to. Not to mention, he probably shouldn’t have thought of her by her given name, even inside his head. They didn’t know each other that well after all.

Sometimes he drew Bucky, and it hurt because Bucky’s face was the most familiar he knew, and yet he had a gnawing worry that he didn’t get it quite right on the paper. How did Bucky’s eyes look like when they got calm, when he was content? How exactly did his smile curve when he felt mischievous? Steve drew and drew, and it never felt quite right. Of course, it hadn’t really felt right ever since the moment it was clear their paths would separate with Bucky going into the Army.

He hadn’t gotten a single letter from Bucky, and he tried to not worry, tried to tell himself the mail took its time, that he should just wait. Mostly he wasn’t successful, and he woke up nearly every night with a nightmare of what might have happened to Bucky.

***

It hadn’t been just drawing he needed to learn again, it had taken him a while to get used to his new height, new strength and just how his body moved. He still didn’t really know what he could do if he tried, because there had been no chance to stretch his limits. There was the unknown, and he wondered if he’d ever really find out. 

He’d gotten used to seeing his face in the mirror, mostly because he’d taken the time to look at himself until the old expectation wore away after he got frustrated with flinching every time he wanted to shave.

Knowing his own face didn’t really help with the feeling that he was different on the inside too, and the uncertainty he had. He often wondered how big the difference really was. He couldn’t tell, and neither could anyone else, because everyone around him had only gotten to know him after the procedure. It didn’t help that there was only one person in the world that knew him well enough to tell him one way or another.

It didn’t help that Steve had no idea if Bucky even was alive anymore.

Another new thing about his body had come up the second morning after the procedure. The first night had been restless but on the second he’d slept well, probably paying his dues for all the exertion of the previous few days. He’d woken up hard, which certainly wasn’t a usual state for him. Before the serum he’d been able to get hard unless he was too sick or exhausted, but it never happened spontaneously while sleeping. He’d known it did happen to other people, had seen Bucky wake up like that more than once when they lived together, but for him it was an entirely new experience.

In general, when he started to pay attention to it, his libido seemed to have shot through the roof, and sometimes he felt like even a stiff breeze would be enough stimulation. He got used to it, and it evened out after a while, but his hand continued to get a lot of workout.

That first morning he’d grasped himself without thinking only to flush with the realization that even if his hands had grown apparently everything else had grown too, since the relative dimensions were about the same. He didn’t last that long and came all over himself, thinking of things he probably shouldn’t have. Certainly thinking of people he shouldn’t have. Didn’t mean he’d stop doing so the next time.

Weeks stretched while he got used to being inside his own skin again, maybe not comfortable, but then again he’d never really felt comfortable inside his own skin. There was traveling and events and performances and filming, days blurring into each other and he didn’t like it but he didn’t know what else to do.

When it was announced that they’d travel to Europe to perform for the men on the front, Steve tried to tell himself it was better, good to at least get closer. He couldn’t convince himself to believe that either.

***

There under the canvas, listening to the rain that sounded the same in Europe as it did back at home, Steve was having a hard time remembering the fire that had burned inside him, that had made him try and enlist time and time again. Even here, right in the middle of things he didn’t feel it, couldn’t remember it. It was no use. They wouldn’t let him do anything anyway.

Even seeing Peggy didn’t really make him feel better. She was suddenly there, graceful, determined and perfect as ever, but Steve still felt listless, even in her company. It didn’t matter when she said she believed he’d been meant for more than he was now doing. He didn’t have any more options. 

Then she said something else, something that turned Steve’s blood into ice in his veins, made all the fears he’d tried to stifle for months now all the more potent. 

Steve had had difficulty believing in what he was doing, but now he had something he couldn’t believe for a whole another reason. He couldn’t, he  _ wouldn’t,  _ believe that Bucky was dead, not unless he saw it himself. Most likely wasn’t enough. 

It felt like a fire lighting up inside of him again, one that burned away the uncertainty. Now he knew what he was going to do, and he wasn’t going to ask anyone’s permission for it.

***

Steve found Bucky, maybe because they always seemed to find each other, regardless that now their circles were much bigger than the borough of Brooklyn. 

He found Bucky strapped on a table, muttering into the air his name, rank and serial, the words slurring and eyes empty. For a moment it was like all those nightmares Steve had had, where he finally was reunited with Bucky and Bucky didn’t know him. For a moment the ice again filled Steve’s veins.

Then Bucky’s eyes focused, the blue cleared and he looked at Steve, spoke his name, and Steve felt like his knees should have buckled with relief. Except he couldn’t let it happen because Bucky needed his support for the first time ever, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to give it.

It felt like an absolution to have Bucky look at him and  _ know _ him, truly. He knew that Bucky didn’t just see the outside, he saw every bit of Steve, and he still knew him, still trusted him. It was why minutes later when they were standing on separate sides of a fiery pit, Steve jumped when Bucky wouldn’t leave without him. 

He was not going to die now that they’d finally been reunited, and if he had anything to say to it Bucky wouldn’t either.

***

(When he was standing on unsteady legs in the falling helicarrier, battered and bleeding, Steve would think back to the moment in the HYDRA factory where Bucky was prepared to die rather than leave him. Decades on the nightmare of Bucky not knowing him would have become the truth, but it didn’t mean Steve would, or could, leave Bucky.)

 

* * *

 

#####  Forward – No More Hiding

Bucky’s been staying at the same place for a month now. It’s a small coastal village in Southern France, and he’s been helping a local fisherman whose usual crew mate broke a leg a while before Bucky arrived. It’s calming, the traditional profession that hasn’t much changed over decades. It’s simple and physical, and even if it’s not too challenging for him, it’s enough to make him focus and not think.

It’s early fall, almost half a year since he set out from Wakanda, and he knows he’s made progress within himself. It doesn’t make anything that happened to him better, because nothing ever will, but he’s learned to see that his past doesn’t taint everything he’s doing now. He can make another life, and it’ll have its own meaning. It doesn’t have to be a be reflection of his past.

He finds himself thinking more and more often that maybe he should just disappear, pull away from everything and everyone he used to know. Maybe then his life truly could be something other than built on his past. Thing is, he can’t help but think it would feel like a lie. Even if he is feeling a sense of peace here in a small village, rising up early to go fishing, nothing more complicated, it doesn’t feel quite right.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to give up everything he knew. He can’t yet make himself to stay with Steve, or to even talk to him, but he doesn’t want to completely sever their ties. He’s fairly sure he couldn’t, not anymore.

These days they text back and forth nearly every day, mostly about mundane things. Bucky still can’t quite make himself tell Steve where he is, but he tells about the fishing, the people he’s met, things he remembers. Steve has been staying mostly in Cornwall, sometimes wherever Fury has his base. They’ve done a few more missions, but nothing serious, and Bucky’s mostly learned to not fret when he knows Steve is out there. 

Lately he’s been reading Steve’s notebooks again, concentrating on the war period and how their relationship shifted after the serum, after Bucky had been a prisoner. They’d both been changed since they’d parted in New York and Bucky remembers it had taken a while for them to find how they fit together again. When they did figure it out, they’d maybe been closer than ever. In some ways at least, and not just physical. It had been more complicated, not the easy friendship of their boyhood, but it had suited the men they’d become. Knowing this makes him dare to hope a bit that maybe they’ll again find how they fit together. They haven’t yet, for all that there has been a new kind of honesty between them. They’ve said a lot of things they never used to talk about, and now they need to figure out what to do with it.

As Bucky’s considering what exactly Steve is to him, in addition to being the most important person in his life, something that’s unlikely to ever change, he’s trying to figure out how exactly he felt about Steve before the fall. He’s not quite sure; it’s easier to remember what he did than how he felt. That’s likely to get confused with how he feels now. 

Steve has told him, and as far as he remembers it’s true, that they never really used to talk about what they were to each other. Maybe it was so easy back then that there was no need. Now, some things are still easy. It’s the easiest thing in the world to touch Steve, to let his body guide him, to seek the thrill and release. It’s simple, but the rest of it, what it means, is not easy. Bucky suspects that back then he refused to think about all the aspects that might have made their closeness complicated, and that’s why he doesn’t know what it meant between them back during the war. He hadn’t figured it out then either. 

These days he can’t live like that anymore. He doesn’t really trust his instincts, can’t let his body lead anymore. And maybe he has gone about it backwards, maybe  _ they  _ have gone about it backwards, falling back into physical intimacy when Bucky can’t live like he used to, and Steve clearly doesn’t want to live like they used to anymore. 

On the other hand, maybe it’s good that Bucky hadn’t managed to step on the instinct that guided him to Steve that night after being woken from the ice. At least it made them talk. At least they know that part of them still works. One thing Bucky doesn’t have to doubt, like he used to when he was hiding in Bucharest. Then he hadn’t been sure of anything.

***

He’s just come back to the little house he’s been staying at after a morning of work when his phone beeps with an incoming message. This time it’s not Steve just telling about his day, but saying they’re going on a mission soon, and the location, Taras in Kazakhstan, puts Bucky on alert.

_ Do you mean the base there,  _ Bucky texts back, because he remembers being there.

_ Yes,  _ comes the reply.  _ They seem to have recently activated it and are planning something, we need to go now. _

Bucky remembers the base, the size of it, and knows that if it’s fully staffed, it’s possibly too big for Steve’s team. And the Avengers are deployed elsewhere, handling some crisis about biologically enhanced animals on the American west coast, meaning they probably can’t help. It only takes him a second to decide.

_ I’m coming too. _

Steve doesn’t seem to be too surprised, just texts him a location and asks Bucky if he can make it there by midnight. It’s not surprising that it’s within range, even if he hasn’t told Steve exactly where is. He’s told enough details, and Steve isn’t an idiot.

He packs his things and says goodbyes. However it goes, it’s probably time for him to move on.

***

It’s not a quinjet but a regular helicopter that appears against the sky at the coordinates in northern Italy that Steve gave Bucky. He doesn’t come out of his shelter, just waits for the chopper to land. The door opens and only when he sees the familiar shape of Natalia he moves.

They don’t talk on the way, Bucky is offered a pair of headphones but he mutes the radio on them. It’s a bit tricky to keep track on their progress in the dark, but as they land early in the early morning he knows they’re in Slovakia, even without checking the navigation on his Wakandan phone.

The base that Fury and the not-anymore-Avengers use is in a ruin of a castle, with a lot more subterranean passages than it originally used to have. There are people moving in the corridors, all purposeful, trying to not appear to be paying attention to them but not really succeeding. Natalia takes him straight to a room that turns out to be an armory, hands him tactical gear that fits him and shows him a room where to leave his things and change.

He’s changed in minutes, everything fits him perfectly, and he straps his favorite guns and knives to go along. Natalia picks him up again, also having changed into her usual fitting suit and her hair pulled up on a ponytail. So far they’ve only talked about mission related, practical things, but as they walk she steps closer and speaks barely audibly enough for him to hear.

“We should probably talk sometime.” At Bucky’s glance, she continues, “Not now, I know. But we should arrange it.”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, thinking back to the young woman he met when he had no name, and how he kept meeting her for the first time. “I’ll find you,” he says, and that’s all before they slip into a space that’s clearly designated for general briefings and crafting strategy.

Steve is standing near the screen, talking to Fury, and it suddenly registers to Bucky that the last time he saw the man was when he shot him. Still, it’s not half as odd as seeing Steve in his tactical uniform, because it’s all black, not his customary Captain America colors. It’s probably appropriate now, considering how he technically isn’t Captain America anymore, but it doesn’t make it any less weird. 

Clint, Scott and a woman Bucky hasn’t met but based on Steve’s journals thinks is Hope come in, and apparently it means everyone is present, since Steve and Fury begin the briefing. Bucky leans to the back wall and listens, taking in every single detail.

***

They all head out, and Steve falls in step next to Bucky and passes him a communicator. They have talked via messages, but they haven’t spoken since Bucky left Wakanda, and now he feels tongue tied. Apparently Steve isn’t much better, so they make their way to the jet in silence. In the quinjet Bucky stops near the back and Steve continues toward the cockpit. His hand briefly brushed at Bucky’s elbow, and that’s it. 

They all strap in, Clint on pilot’s seat. It’s nine of them altogether, and Bucky knows it’ll probably be tight even if the plan is solid. 

After the take-off Steve gets up, moves around the jet and talks with everyone, going over the plans and probably just getting an idea of the general mood. It’s what he used to do back in the war with the Commandos, gauging the feel of the team, whether anyone was tired or tense, keeping track of their mental and physical state. Bucky isn’t the least bit surprised he still does it.

Bucky’s sitting alone, observing everyone, and it’s obvious how they are a team. Clearly some of them are a more tightly knit group, but all of them seem to have a rapport with each other, all of them are comfortable, talking and laughing even on the way to a mission. Bucky is alone, and it’s obvious he doesn’t belong, not in this group. Maybe he could, if he let himself, but for now he doesn’t.

Yet, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, even when looking at Steve still throws up the now familiar confusion, the want and the denial. 

After a while Wanda comes to sit with him, and he asks about what she’s been up to recently. He knows she’s been spending time with Helen Cho, but not much more.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what else I can do with my powers besides fight and hurt people,” she tells him. “In Wakanda, talking with all of them and finding out a way to help you, it made me think that maybe I could do more of that. Helen is maybe the best in the field of advanced medical treatments, and we’ve been working together. Obviously I can’t be everywhere but if I can help them create methods where I’m not needed, then it’s worth it. I’m still going to fight when I’m needed though.”

“You seem happier than you did before,” Bucky finds himself saying, and it’s true. There’s a purpose in her now, and she seems determined to move forward instead of floating around, like she had when they first met.

“I am,” she agrees. “What about you?” She fixes a stare at him that’s so intense that he’d think she was using her powers to look into him, except Bucky knows she isn’t, he trusts her to keep her promise not to. “You look like you have figured some things out, but I’m not sure it makes you happier. You still seem to be waiting for something.”

“It’s, well. You’re right. But I suppose, I’m making my way to somewhere I can maybe be happy down the line.”

“It’s all we can do,” she says.

Steve comes then to talk to them, about the mission and other things, and with her there it suddenly isn’t hard at all talking to Steve. Steve briefs them on the final updates to the plan, and sits with them until they’re near the target. 

Bucky starts to feel like maybe he does belong in the team after all, or at least that he can if he wants to.

***

They’re in position, waiting for the command to attack, and it’s a sound decision strategically, but Bucky still thinks it’s mostly due to Steve being a shithead to have him and Sam start out as a team. They will fly in, Sam carrying him to a roof access before continuing to monitor the outside. It’s a good starting place for Bucky, but still.

Next to him Sam says, “Steve thinks he’s funny sometimes, but he really isn’t.”

Bucky spares a thought at the knowledge that Steve would laugh himself silly if he heard that the two of them were thinking about exactly the same thing. If it’s up to Bucky, Steve will never know it, though. 

He stays quiet and focused. They’ve still got time to wait, and they’re secure, so total silence isn’t required, but Bucky’s not comfortable anymore with casual chit-chat. He knows he used to be, before the war, but after Zola he was more quiet, and the decades spent as HYDRA’s prisoner took it all out of him. 

Sam is the one to break the silence. “I kind of tried to talk him out of it,” he says, vague, but Bucky’s fairly sure he knows exactly what Sam means.

“I would have thought you knew by now Steve’s not that easy to talk out of things.”

“Oh I know,” Sam says, and his long suffering tone is familiar. It takes a moment for Bucky to realize he’s used the exact same tone when it comes to Steve. Maybe this is the reason why Steve put them together to wait, to give them a chance to talk. After all, Steve looks after his team, even in ways that the members might not be too keen on.

“I just thought it was my duty as his friend to try,” Sam continues.

“Why?” Bucky asks, and huffs at Sam’s look that’s almost amused. “I’m not saying there aren’t reasons for him to not throw it in with me, I know there are,” he explains. “I’m not necessarily even disagreeing with you. I’m just curious to know what it is particularly for you.”

“Maybe it’s just all of it,” Sam says, but he’s grinning now.

“I already know it’s not, otherwise you’d be against me being here at all, and you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. We need all the hands we can get, and I’d say you need this too, right?” Sam casts a searching look at Bucky. “No, it was that I thought he was getting all in with something he thought he knew and didn’t, because he decided when you were still in stasis. But now I know it’s not that. First of all, he was already all in, so. And next, he’s not wanting something specific, just giving it a chance, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Bucky says, feeling a bit surreal, considering he doesn’t really know Sam that well at all, and here they are having a heart to heart. Steve has told him about how they first met with Sam, how it was easy to talk to him, and Bucky sees it now.

“Because you asked the same questions. I know. What I’m saying, it seems that everyone involved are at least going at it eyes open, so might as well see how it goes.”

They break off to give a status report on the radio. It’s still ten minutes before they need to move, if everything goes well. Sam is still not done, though.

“Back when we first met, I asked Steve what made him happy, and he said he didn’t know. He’s in a much better place now, so there is that.”

Bucky has no words for it, he just nods in acknowledgment, and they fall quiet, listening to the chatter from the team. Steve and Natalia are one team, and they will move first to create a diversion for the rest of them to be able to overwhelm HYDRA agents in the building. It’s a risky job, so of course Steve is doing it himself, and as far as Bucky knows, Natalia is often the one he works with. He also knows that the two of them have a tendency to take risks that drive Sam up the wall.

“We’re moving in,” comes Steve’s voice into his ear, and Bucky tenses a bit. This is where it goes wrong if they’ve miscalculated the defenses, and in that case the rest of them need to be ready to move sooner than expected.

Nothing happens, though, and he can just see two dark shapes moving around the compound, taking out the guards silently and efficiently. Next to him Sam stands up and opens his wings. Bucky grabs his harness, and they listen to Steve count seconds down in their ear.

***

It’s a tough fight, just as Bucky expected. They contain all the exits and work from outside in, which means the HYDRA agents get cornered. Some of them surrender, all of them people that are clearly non-combatants. It would be tricky to try and contain them all when there are less than ten people in their team, but there is a solution. They have trackers, small and light, that they give to the people that have surrendered. They make sure they put the trackers around their necks and they’re free to go. The devices are nearly indestructible, as is the loop around ankle and the lock. They’ll get picked up later.

Bucky makes his way through the building methodically, giving status reports and listening in. Everyone is fighting hard, but so far all of them are still standing. Soon they’ve cleared the building, and head into the underground network. Apparently it’s a theme of secret organizations, whatever their allegiances. 

Bucky and Wanda are together at their stairwell, and at the bottom they head out in opposite directions. Bucky clears the corridors he comes to, shooting all the agents with guns on them without hesitation. It’s methodical and simple, almost familiar. 

He finally comes to a big room that probably works as a lab. There’s a cluster of HYDRA agents holed in there, clearly having decided to take as many of their attackers with them as possible. Bucky’s just calculating angles when there’s a movement at the corridor to the side of him, but he doesn’t even point his gun before he registers it’s Steve. 

Steve crouches down next to him, looking at the scene. They’re covered, and the enemies in the room haven’t yet noticed them, but it’s only a matter of time. From where they are, Bucky doesn’t have a clear shot, and if he moves, he’s right in their sights. It’s not a chance he fancies taking unless he has no other choice. 

They could call for Wanda, but Steve is looking at the piping and the layout of the room, and Bucky knows he’s got something in his mind. Steve glances at him, and Bucky knows it’s meant for him to be ready, and then he’s gone, soundless despite his big frame. Bucky waits and focuses.

The HYDRA agents haven’t really chosen an ideal place for their last stand, the room is too open and there are too many entrances, but then the whole subterranean complex isn’t planned for defense. Whoever built the place was stupid in that. Right then the sprinklers in the room burst, spewing water down, and Bucky’s immediately on his feet and shooting. The enemies go down before any of them gets their guns trained at Bucky, and it’s over in seconds. 

Bucky blinks, making sure they’re clear and finds Steve standing at the other entrance, just looking at Bucky, an expression Bucky can’t decipher in his eyes. He can’t find anything to say, and he suddenly wonders if this moment changed something, if the way he still can kill almost ten people within seconds has shaken Steve. He can do it, and not think of it, and he wonders if Steve only now realizes that the part that can do that didn’t disappear with the winter soldier.

“Let’s clear out the rest,” Steve says, and they continue along the corridor.

It’s familiar, muscle memory really, to move in tandem with Steve, covering each other and making sure everything is under control. They find another cluster of scientists, most of whom surrender, and the one that grabs a knife from somewhere and tries to stab Steve gets Steve’s elbow in face and shot in the chest by Bucky at the same time. Probably an overkill, but it is what it is.

Soon enough there’s an all clear from all of them, and they head out, taking all the hard drives with them that they can and leave. Bucky knows the location has already been leaked out to the Avengers, who’ve apparently just now taken care of their own crisis. 

As they’re clearing out, Bucky feels all the more keenly that a shift has happened between him and Steve, and that something should be said. Only he hasn’t got the words, and Steve is busy, arranging things both with the team and on the radio to Fury or whoever. Maybe even the Avengers. Bucky’s telling himself it’s normal for the team leader to be busy, that Steve isn’t deliberately avoiding him. He’s not very successful at convincing himself.

He almost stays at the back again after he’s stowed the rifle he was given, except Natalia pulls him to the seat next to her. Sam and Wanda come to sit near them too. They don’t talk, all of them tired, munching on the protein bars Sam digs out from somewhere. They all have scrapes and bruises, there are a few bandages here and there, but no serious injuries.

Bucky remembers Natalia saying they should talk, and it’s true, they should. He’s not ready yet, though, and knows it’ll probably take a while still. It must have been the same for her too, considering that even though she was in Wakanda all the time he was there after waking up, he didn’t see her at all, not even on meals with Steve, Sam and Wanda. She’s probably ready now, and he’ll have to make her wait. It seems to be the theme of his life these days.

***

It’s been hours since they wrapped up and returned to Fury’s base. The raid was tough as they’d expected, but they all came through it fine, bumps and bruises but no serious injuries for anyone. The official Avengers are now at the scene, pretending they know nothing about Steve’s group as they always do. Bucky wonders why Ross buys it, he should know better. But perhaps it is a case of overconfident pride and denial, trying to pretend even to himself that things are going perfectly.

Bucky considered just disappearing from the base on his own right after they landed; after all he has everything he needs with him. He didn’t though, for the reasons he’s been pushing away from his mind ever since the operation ended. He went through the debriefing, talked about everything he’d noticed, what he remembered and what had changed since he was at the base the previous time. Now he’s sitting in the corner of a chilly spare room, a little out of the way, and cleaning and checking his weapons more thoroughly than is strictly necessary.

He is all alone, and he can still feel the weight of Steve’s gaze, the way he looked at Bucky for a few very long seconds during the fight.

He still feels shaken by it, and he knows exactly why. He met Steve’s eyes, and wasn’t able to tell what he was thinking, only that something was suddenly different. There are moments when people just suddenly know something, when there is a sudden new significance that affects them, and that happened to Steve, Bucky is sure of it. He just doesn’t know what exactly Steve saw and knew that second, and it unsettles him, because he can make guesses, and the only one he can think of is both expected and one he doesn’t want at all, even if he’s all but told Steve the very same thing himself. 

He’s different from what he used to be, and it’s difficult to reconcile the person he is now with being with Steve. He’s thought about it by himself, and he’s told Steve that maybe they shouldn’t even try to have the kind of close relationship they used to. He’s even acted on it, only to bounce right back. He left Steve on the shore of the Potomac, but his brain would keep dredging up memories. He tried to hide and run in Bucharest only to confess in Berlin. He went into the ice, hoping it would put a distance between them when Steve would move on while he couldn’t, and he stumbled right into Steve’s arms after waking up.

He saw Steve, truly, saw right into his soul and it scared Bucky, still does, that after all that has happened there still is a love like that waiting for him. He ran again, but he couldn’t leave Steve behind, not really. He’s carried Steve’s journals everywhere and started texting him about things other than status reports. They still fight as one unit, the old practiced patterns resurfacing without even being summoned.

It’s like there’s a tether between them, something elastic, that makes them snap together all the harder if he tries to pull back. And all the while he does so, Steve is standing steady, waiting for him.

Except Bucky isn’t sure if Steve is so steady anymore. There’s the looming possibility that Steve has finally caught on, has finally truly seen Bucky for what he is, and is now considering what to do about it. Bucky should be glad, because it’s what he’s wanted all along, and instead he’s terrified. He’s honest enough to admit it.

He wishes he could still be immersed in what he’s doing so completely that he’s oblivious to his surroundings. He wishes he wasn’t constantly aware of everything, but he is, and so there’s no chance whatsoever that he’d miss Steve approaching. He’d know those steps anywhere. He doesn’t bother hoping Steve is on the way somewhere else. He’s not that lucky.

Steve doesn’t hesitate at all at the door before he ducks in, which tells Bucky he isn’t unsure of what to do or what he wants to say. Steve, same as all of them, has changed into civilian clothes, wearing a brown leather jacket that’s exactly the same color as the one he had on in Austria when he pulled Bucky off Zola’s table. Back then he was the best thing Bucky had ever seen, even if he hadn’t been quite sure whether it was real. That’s one of the things that hasn’t changed, even if Bucky has a lot harder time admitting it even to himself these days.

What Steve says isn’t really what he expected. 

“You okay there, Buck?”

“Fine,” he says, and starts packing everything up.

“Really. Because hiding like this isn’t like you.” 

Steve seems to be deliberately keeping his voice non-committal, and it makes Bucky’s hackles rise.

“Not like me?” he grits through his teeth. “Are you sure you know what I’m like these days? Sure you aren’t just expecting me to be someone that really died decades ago?”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Steve says, still carefully calm.

“Right. I saw you look at me, back there. You really saw me then, didn’t you? You’ve seen me fight before, but now the shoe dropped.” Bucky gets up on his feet and takes a step closer to Steve. “Look at me. Really look. Best you got on with the program. This is me now, I’m not going to change.”

“I know,” Steve says, and he’s clearly not changing his mind, not taking in what Bucky says or even considering it.

Bucky shakes his head and starts, “You —”

He doesn’t get any further, because Steve takes a quick two strides toward him and grabs a hold of Bucky’s head. Then Steve’s lips are on his, hard and insistent. Bucky tenses for a second before letting himself relax, and kisses Steve back. His hands have found their way up to grasp at Steve’s jacket, and he hangs on fingers clenched, mouth pliant under Steve’s. Steve licks his tongue over Bucky’s lower lip, just a little bit into his mouth, and it’s like a jolt of electricity right at Bucky’s spine. He let’s out a whisper of a groan.

Steve pulls away all too soon, but keeps framing Bucky’s face with his hands, now unbearably gentle. “Bucky,” he says,  _ “I know.” _

It’s only then that Bucky knows that Steve hadn’t considered his words more carefully because Steve really does know. Steve knows he’s not the same, knows what he is. And he still kissed Bucky. Maybe Bucky has read it all wrong.

“Are you going to let me tell you what I think instead of assuming and trying to put words in my mouth?” Steve asks.

Bucky really has no comeback for it, so he waits.

“You were right, I have seen you fight before, but perhaps I never truly looked. I did now, and I see you, and I see nothing that would make me want to go away. The opposite really. Listen, I know you’ve changed, I know it’s not easy, and knowing all that, this is still what I choose. You are.”

“I’m pretty sure you ended up having all the stupid,” Bucky mutters and Steve laughs and leans their foreheads together.

They stay there for a few more minutes before they head out to the quinjet.

***

Bucky’s standing at the back of the quinjet, the last one left besides Steve. The jet is currently parked on a barren field outside Kiev, invisible to everyone unless they walk right into it. It’s time for him to set out again.

He’s got his pack on his back, in it everything he needs. Steve is standing in front of him, a careful half a step away. Bucky should say his goodbyes, but he has no words, and Steve doesn’t seem to find anything either. Hence, they’re just standing there.

Bucky’s a bit surprised how easy it is, after having just gone through hours of thinking that this might have been it, that Steve would finally let go of him. There’s a part of him that still thinks that it would be better for Steve if he did, since Bucky clearly can’t, but the part is smaller and smaller every day. Yet, as long as it exists he can’t stay. But maybe he can, someday. He handles the thought carefully inside his head, almost not acknowledging it. It feels all too fragile still.

Finally he shifts on his feet, adjusts his pack. It would be better to get going, even an invisible quinjet isn’t exactly the best place to stay. 

“I’m sorry I can’t stay yet,” Bucky says, finding his voice.

“It’s okay, I understand,” Steve says, and somehow means it too. He’s not just putting a brave face on.

Steve steps a bit closer and pulls Bucky in, resting their foreheads together. They stay like that, breathing the same air. Bucky closes his eyes and just feels the warmth that is Steve and only Steve, running just slightly hotter than a non-enhanced human. Bucky wonders if he does too, it’s hard to tell, and he actually never has taken his own temperature. Then again, he knows his arm leeches away some body heat, maybe they compensate each other. Bucky hasn’t got an inkling whether that would even be possible. His knowledge of human biology is mostly about how to kill and hurt in all the different kinds of ways.

It’s Steve that pulls away after a few minutes, and it’s good too, because Bucky isn’t sure whether he could have. He’s cursed his brain more than once about things like these; can’t stay and can’t make himself go. But go he must, and it would be hell of a lot harder if Steve didn’t understand so well. If Steve wasn’t unselfish to a fault.

Steve pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket, a phone number scribbled on it, and hands it to Bucky.

“Tony said he would like to talk to you, and I promised to let you know. Your call whether you do it or not.”

Bucky takes the number, tucks it inside his own pocket and Steve hits the door release. On the field Bucky walks away from the immediate range, and stops to wait, listening to the almost silent engines of the jet as it takes off. When he can’t hear it anymore he starts walking toward the road.

***

Bucky’s walking again, heading toward one of the major roads leading out of Kiev. He knows a truck stop where he might be able to hitch a ride from. It’ll probably take him a few hours to get there.

As he walks, he considers the phone number written on the scrap of paper in his pocket. Just the fact he has it is telling, Steve wouldn’t have given it to him if Stark hadn’t had a significant change of heart regarding him. Bucky knew it already before, he’d have to be idiot to not recognize the significance of the arc reactor powering his arm, that Stark has given him the technology that was born to keep him alive. He’s been wondering about it, but hasn’t done anything to find out.

Bucky knows Steve and Stark have built their relationship back up, at least to a degree, since Steve mentioned it in his journals. He has no idea what it means for him, though.

Yet, here he is, with a phone number, and a choice to make. He could just throw it away. He could keep it, and take his time. He could get a burner phone and use it to make the call, that way he would give up the country he’s at. He could use his own phone, with the encryption on, and that would tell Stark he has Wakandan technology at his possession. 

Or he can do as he does; he takes out his own phone, and dials the number from memory. There’s nothing more than the standard Wakandan encryption on, which means Stark probably won’t be able to track him, but it’ll leave his number visible. It’s not a comfortable thought, but then, he still owes Stark, and it’s a debt that can’t be repaid.

Stark himself answers the phone, which means it must be a direct line, a number only known to few and far between. His voice is echoing just a little, which Bucky already knows means he’s wearing his Iron Man suit. They’re probably still taking care of the cleanup at the HYDRA base. Maybe he should have waited, but he has a feeling that Stark actually doesn’t mind these sort of things.

“You wanted me to call you,” Bucky says, with no other greeting or introductions.

There’s a ten second silence at the other end. “So I did,” Stark says, and clears his throat. “I have a bit of advice.”

Statement like that, it could be anything, but it sounds to Bucky like Stark is improvising, just a little hesitation in his speech.

“About what you’re doing, Cap may have the patience of a saint —” Stark starts and it’s nothing Bucky expected to hear.

“He really, really doesn’t,” Bucky interrupts almost automatically while filing away the form of address.

“Okay, granted, you’re right in general. I meant about you. He’s prepared to wait for you a long time, but don’t take too long. I made a mistake of relying on someone’s patience too much and it cost me.”

Bucky winces at the knowledge that Stark apparently has caught on something about him and Steve, wonders how much Steve talks to Stark, but decides it doesn’t matter. That doesn’t mean he’s prepared to talk about it, so he hedges, telling the truth. “This is not at all what I expected.”

“Guess so, but the other option is to be all sincere and talk about what actually happened and we are both too emotionally constipated for that. I mean I know I am. Bet you are too. I’ll take weird over that any day.”

Bucky lets out a breath and says, “Thank you.” He’s fairly sure Stark knows exactly what he means.

Then he hangs up.

Only afterwards he realizes they didn’t really talk about anything, there was no real topic that Stark brought up, but Bucky figures it was more about the act of calling itself. He has no illusions over whether things will be complicated between them going forward, probably always will be, but he knows this was an important step. 

Stark took one when he made the arc reactor for Bucky’s arm, and now he clearly wanted to see if Bucky was willing to take another, to make a connection, to trust him with it. 

It doesn’t mean it is all okay now, but they have taken another step to that direction.

 

* * *

 

#####  Backward – Even When There Was Nothing

The winter that Steve was seventeen he was healthier than he ever remembered being during the cold part of the year. Usually it would have been a cause to celebrate, to be relieved, because usually it would have meant everything was easier.

Usually.

That winter, Steve thought the reason he was healthier than ever was clear; the knowledge he couldn’t afford to get sick. 

His mother was happy about it, she still kept vigilant watch over his health, kept asking about the state of his lungs and whether his heart had given him problems, and smiled every time Steve said no. Steve tended to say no in any case, when the pain was only mild, and she knew it too. That winter she smiled because she knew he wasn’t hiding anything, and her smiles felt like pinpricks in Steve’s heart every time.

For her it started with a cough in the fall, and at first Steve didn’t much pay attention to it. After all having a cough wasn’t unusual at all, even if his mother generally was fairly healthy. Tired, but healthy. Only, the cough didn’t disappear, and after a month there started to be a niggling worry in Steve’s heart.

Sarah kept to her routine; going to work, talking to all their neighbors, keeping busy with her sewing. She rested a bit more though, Steve noticed. She tended to fall asleep earlier, and Steve tiptoed around their tiny apartment, hoping that sleep would do its duty and help her get better.

He didn’t ask her about her health, not the way she always asked about his. Even the most tentative queries were met with reassurances that she was fine, and Steve let it go. He knew he let go so easily because he feared that if he pushed, she’d tell him that something was wrong, and he didn’t know how he would handle it.

As winter moved in, the cough never receded. She was more and more tired each week that passed, and didn’t eat nearly enough. They never really had enough food anyway, but now she couldn’t even manage the normal small portions. She kept going to work, but she visibly got more and more tired as time passed. 

Steve found himself a job bagging groceries, and frankly he hated it, but at least it brought in a bit more money, all of which they needed. He tried to get his mother to take time off work, to rest, but she never would. There was the constant worry, watching her waste away and not being able to do anything about it. As time passed, he knew he had a good reason for fear. He knew enough about illnesses, having heard her mother talk about them, that he knew she most likely had tuberculosis, and he knew exactly what it meant.

Steve didn’t know how to talk about it to Bucky, so he didn’t, but Bucky wasn’t stupid either. He started showing up with oranges and apples, doubly welcome in the winter, and brought in wood and coal for them so that they weren’t cold. Bucky talked with Sarah, cheerfully greeting her from the door and Steve was so grateful, because he was too afraid to be so happy. At least Bucky could do it.

And Bucky was always there, a steady presence pulling Steve in for hugs and propping him up, making him fear a little less.

The spring came, but Sarah never got better. She was so thin she looked almost translucent, and still she got up from the bed and went to work. Somehow she made it through the days even though Steve could see in the evenings that her cheeks were flushed and eyes bright with fever brought up by exertion. 

It was early summer when one morning she couldn’t get up, and Steve found blood on her handkerchief. He didn’t say anything, only made sure she drank some tea and fluffed her thin pillow the best he could to make her more comfortable. She fell asleep after only a few hours, fever burning through her, and it was then that Steve broke.

He crumbled in a heap by her bed, stifling down the sobs the best he could. He couldn’t deny it any longer; she was going to leave him, and there was nothing he could do. Bucky found him there, hours later when his tears had already dried. He pulled Steve up and supported him when his knees threatened to give away after being in one position for so long. Bucky made him wash his face, put on tea and sat with him, talking about inconsequential things until Steve felt a bit more together again.

It was the only time Steve cried during his mother’s illness. After that he looked after her the best he could, tried to make her comfortable. Her condition fluctuated; sometimes she was better, sometimes worse, but the dark fear inside Steve was constant.

In later years, Steve didn’t remember much about that summer, just days running into each other, despair gripping at his heart, his mother failing and yet somehow holding steady, somehow still speaking of hope and smiling at him. He remembered Bucky’s presence, always there, always strong.

In the early fall Sarah had deteriorated so much that Steve had to make her go to the hospital, a patient where she’d once worked. He knew she hated it, but there was nothing else to do. He visited her whenever he could, lingering there even when all the nurses kept telling him that he’d catch his own death.

The days stretched on, long and too short at the same time.

It was a beautiful day in October, leaves yellowing in Prospect Park, the air clear and crisp, and sun shining from the deep blue sky. Steve was sitting by his mother, reading a book for her, listening to her labored breaths.

Then there was only silence.

***

That fall and winter was the most difficult time Steve had lived up until then. The days until the funeral and the first week after it he was mostly numb, going through the motions. He went to work, came home and slept. Food didn’t taste like anything, and he couldn’t muster energy to be interested in anything.

It didn’t really hurt right then, he was beyond that.

Bucky came to see him every day, worry in his eyes that Steve saw but didn’t really register, the same way as nothing registered. He knew Bucky tried to get him to talk, to perk him up by telling stories, dragging him out of the apartment and pushing his sketchbook in his hands. Steve did go on the walks with Bucky, and managed some wan smiles. He didn’t draw at all.

A week after the funeral he woke up from a dream where he’d run in corridors; of shabby apartment buildings, of public libraries, of museums he’d been at. He heard his mother’s voice calling for him, but he never reached her, and he felt his steps falter, his breathing stutter. It was still hard to breathe when he woke up, and it took him almost an hour before he could breathe normally again. His chest hurt with the exertion.

After that night things shifted, and suddenly he wasn’t so numb anymore. It wasn’t better though, because now it hurt. In the mornings, during the day, in the evenings, in the middle of the night when he woke up from nightmares. It always hurt. 

It was difficult to stay in the apartment, because everything there reminded Steve of his mother. And it wasn’t the good memories that came back, it was the last months when she’d been too tired to work, wasting away in her bed, coughing blood and nothing Steve could do made it better. He lived the despair of those months again and again, only to surface from the memories into the despair of her being gone.

A few weeks later it all broke through when he came home after work. He stood in the middle of the room, staring around himself, the now mixing up with the past and he felt himself finally crumble. It was the first time he cried since she was gone, and he couldn’t stop, not for hours.

After the tears dried up he shifted to sit leaning on the wall and he stayed there as the sounds from the building and the city died down and everyone around him went to sleep. He didn’t move. He wasn’t hungry, wasn’t thirsty, wasn’t anything at all.

Dawn broke, and Steve didn’t know if he’d slept. People were up and moving about again, but he still didn’t move. He didn’t move even when the door opened and Bucky let himself in. By then Steve didn’t even have it in himself to look at Bucky, he just kept staring ahead.

Bucky didn’t say anything, didn’t fuss and ask questions; he just came and sank down to sit next to Steve against the wall. Steve suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for Bucky, and it was what finally broke something inside himself. He sagged further down, leaning against Bucky who looped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. They sat like that for a while, until Steve broke the silence.

“I can’t stay here,” he said, and it was the moment he knew it was the truth. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his voice felt rusty. 

Bucky’s arm around him tightened for a moment and all he said was, “Okay. We’ll do that.”

Then he pulled Steve up and made him drink, eat, and sleep.

***

It didn’t take them long at all to find a new place. Steve suspected Bucky had been looking already without telling him, but he didn’t complain, because honestly, the sooner the change came the better. It was a tiny and shabby apartment, but the rent suited them and they didn’t need too much space anyway. Bucky pressed a key into Steve’s hand, and all he could think was to a few weeks back when Bucky had handed him another key, and made a promise.

Moving took them only an afternoon, since neither one of them had that many things. By the next evening they’d sorted out everything, and Steve felt relief in the new environment where the ghosts didn’t seem to be after him. Maybe here he’d be able to remember his mother the way she deserved. 

Maybe it was the relief of the urgent need to keep himself together ending, maybe it was the weather that turned even colder, but within a week after moving Steve was sick. He woke up early one morning, his throat parched and skin burning. It got worse after that, the fever and cough haunting him, and none of the usual remedies seemed to help like they usually did. 

Bucky was a steady presence with him, even when Steve wasn’t really aware. When he was more conscious he felt bad that he was sick so soon after they got a place together, sorry for putting this burden too on Bucky. He even said so one evening, shaking with the rising fever again.

Bucky folded a cold piece of cloth on his forehead, cupped his cheek with a cool hand and said, “Trust me, I’d much rather you be sick with me than alone.”

It didn’t make it okay, but it silenced Steve, and when he two weeks later woke up with no fever at all, Bucky smiled at him like a sunrise, and all the apologies died on his tongue. 

***

Things got better, slowly and haltingly, but they did. Steve recovered from his illness, worked sporadically when he found someone who would take him, and got ahead, day by day. Bucky was there with him, always a constant, and they made it, even if it was sometimes hard. 

Spring came and the city grew lighter. It was the first really warm day, they were sitting on the fire escape, Steve with his jacket draped over his shoulders and sitting on Bucky’s jacket to stave off the remaining chill. Bucky sat in his shirtsleeves, loose and relaxed, smoking and telling something that had happened at work earlier that day. He came to the punchline, and Steve found himself laughing, sudden and surprising.

It was only when Bucky looked like he wanted to cry with happiness that Steve realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Sometime with his mother, he thought, but here he now was, and that set him off again, maybe with more relief than anything. Bucky started laughing too, and it went on like that, the two of them leaning on each other and laughing, Bucky’s cigarette forgotten on the railing.

Afterward Steve felt almost exhausted and yet light, as if something had been taken off his back. During the next few days Steve thought Bucky’s smile was different and yet familiar, and Steve realized it was his old smile, the one he hadn’t seen in a long time because it had been laced with sadness.

That was the day Steve knew it would be okay.

It wasn’t suddenly all easy, there were days when sadness still felt insurmountable, but they were only some days, not all of them. Steve set his jaw, looked forward and made it through.

He began to draw again, began to see the beauty in the city and the people in a way that made his fingers itch to recreate it. He sold sketches of people sometimes, got a job painting signs and that summer they made it easily, without having to worry about money, even managed to put something away for winter. They both knew it was likely to be harder then. And it was, but not like the previous winter, and they made it through, another year passed.

It was another spring day and Steve was sketching by the window, when Bucky spoke.

“You should go back to school,” he said, without any preamble.

Steve didn’t comprehend at first, because he had finished school, despite having been ill so often that his grades had suffered, but he had. Then Bucky gestured at his sketchbook.

“For the art,” Bucky said, and a whole new world of possibilities opened up in front of Steve.

He’d never dared to hope, because he had thought it would never be possible. He didn’t really think it was doable now either, so he said no. Bucky had made calculations though, showed Steve how with the new job he’d gotten they could make it, but Steve felt like it would again be him relying on Bucky, and he’d done it too much already.

Still, he’d always been bad at saying no to Bucky, and in this Bucky was even more invested than usual, he kept telling Steve he should apply. And truth was Steve wanted to do it too, wanted to see where he could get. He applied, and got in, and honestly he was terrified of the risk, terrified of failing, but he did it because that was what he always did when afraid.

They settled into their new life, work and school and living together, and they made it for another year. Steve started to feel comfortable in it, even when he knew it couldn’t be permanent, not with how the girls looked at Bucky. Steve knew that more than likely Bucky would find someone he wanted to marry sooner rather than later, and Steve would have to make it on his own again. He knew he’d be able to do it, but it would be a change. 

Bucky didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move on, though.

***

Steve and Bucky had lived in each other’s pockets ever since they got to know each other as children. Steve knew intellectually that at some point they would be set on different paths, and that they’d have to grow apart. At least a little. 

It finally happened, not due to girls and marriage as he’d expected, but the war.

They both went to enlist, and it was simple as two words, one yes and one no, and they were thrown apart. Only days later Bucky was packing his things and heading out to basic, and Steve was left behind, feeling useless. Worst part was, he knew Bucky was relieved by the result. He never said anything, but Steve could tell, from the way Bucky looked at him.

The morning Bucky set out Steve was up, feeling more desolate than ever. He sat on his bed, watching Bucky shave and get dressed, not knowing what to say. Finally Bucky was ready and standing there in the middle of the room, looking like he always did and not at all, his small battered suitcase by the door. He was about to go and Steve couldn’t follow. Steve kept looking at him, speechless, minutes ticking by. It felt more final than it should have; after all Bucky would be coming back on leave during the training before they shipped over, and that wouldn’t probably happen yet for months.

Finally Bucky was the one to move, and he pulled Steve to his feet and in his arms, hugging him tight. For a moment they just stood there before pulling apart, as if by an agreement. 

“Take care of yourself,” Bucky said.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Steve replied and got a crooked smile back.

Then Bucky was gone. 

Steve stood alone for a moment in the suddenly empty apartment, then pressed his lips together and finished dressing. There were several enlistment centers around the city, and people had same names. If he gave a different address, he could try again. Steve headed out, holding onto the hope that maybe a different doctor would look at him and accept him. 

They didn’t. Of course they didn’t. Steve swore to himself he wouldn’t give up.

Bucky came back a few months later, his uniform perfectly pressed, his back straighter. He had a new cadence to his walk; there had always been a swagger in him, but now the confidence was of a different sort, more quiet and relaxed. Disciplined. Steve felt a weight in his chest; Bucky was moving away from him, and this was an all too clear reminder.

Underneath though, he was still Bucky, and they sat on the fire escape talking, comfortable as ever, and yet not. Bucky didn’t talk about the training and Steve didn’t ask, didn’t want to be reminded about the gulf that was opening between them.

The next day Bucky went back and Steve found another recruiting center, the result same as ever.

As weeks and months passed the news from Europe and Asia became more and more alarming, and Steve knew Bucky could be shipped out at any moment now. Bucky wrote to him that there was another leave coming, and that he had news. Steve felt cold all over. The morning they were supposed to meet, Steve tried to enlist again, and got another 4F.

Bucky on the other hand had gained another ounce of quiet confidence, the sergeant’s insignia on his sleeves and orders to sail to Europe at the first light of the next day.

***

(They said distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Steve would think about the saying a lot in the years to come, during the time when there was a physical distance between them, when he knew Bucky was in the world but he didn’t know where, and when there was a the different kind of distance of the cryostasis between them. He never really knew whether the saying was true or not.)

 

* * *

 

#####  Forward – Unlock The Door

It takes Bucky embarrassingly long to realize. He’d blame it on the memory loss, except it’s not that simple with Steve. Even if he doesn’t have a fully formed memory, he still  _ knows _ things when it comes to Steve. Knows the things that are new, knows the things that have stayed the same.

Perhaps it’s because he’d been drowning in uncertainty, or perhaps the wrong kind of certainty. He’d thought Steve had come to a conclusion that Bucky wasn’t worth it after all, when it had been something else entirely. Then there was the relief, the elation that Steve understood, and yet mixed with all that was still the knowledge that he couldn’t stay, couldn’t go with Steve. By this point he doesn’t even know why he can’t, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

He’s lying on a dusty couch in an abandoned house near Donetsk. He happened upon it by chance, after traveling for the whole day and night starting near Kiev where he asked to be dropped off, sometimes walking, sometimes getting rides on trucks. Most of the furniture is still in the house, even if it’s clearly been abandoned for years. The windows are boarded up, and the early morning light is making it through the cracks between the rough planks. 

Bucky still hasn’t slept since before the attack on the base in Taras, and he knows he needs to soon or he’ll start to hallucinate. The house is helpful with that, there’s no need to check himself into a motel or camp out. Neither one of those options appealed to him as he was on the road, but now there’s no need.

He’s lying down, trying to get relaxed. He’s still too restless, his head too full of HYDRA and fighting and Steve, all of it mixing up into a tangle. At least he can afford to wait it out. Even sleep deprived, he can deal with any regular people that might come into the house, unlikely as that would be, and he knows he hasn’t been followed. He’s long before learned to stay off the radar. Food isn’t a problem either, since Steve insisted on replenishing Bucky’s rations with not only protein bars, but some fresh apples and trail mix made of nuts, dried fruits and chocolate. What he has will last him days. The first thing he did at the house was to find the well, and the water in it is clear and sweet, so all his basic needs are covered.

Everything is as well as it can be for him right now, since staying isn’t an option, and yet he just can’t find it in him to relax.

It’s not surprising at all that the kiss ends up playing in his head again and again, Steve’s almost angry insistence, Bucky helpless to do anything but reciprocate because if there’s something he can’t do it’s apparently resisting Steve when he’s anywhere near. It’s probably why after regaining the smallest glimmer of who he was he had to get away from America in 2014.

Now the kiss is all he can think of, and the newness suddenly strikes him. Because it didn’t feel like anything else. Back in Wakanda, the way he was held in Steve’s arms, Steve’s hands on him, the sounds he’d managed to draw out of Steve, all of that was nothing like the kiss. All of that felt familiar, like coming home, as much as he’s tried to not think that way. The kiss is something else.

Before he can really think about it he’s pulling out his phone and finding Steve in his contacts. It’s only when he hears the dial tone he remembers that he hasn’t called Steve even once since leaving Wakanda. They talked when they met, and they’ve texted, but he hasn’t called, and because of that, Steve hasn’t called him either. 

Steve picks up at the second ring, and doesn’t even make it through a greeting before Bucky blurts out, “Was that our first kiss?”

There’s a silence at the other end that stretches out for seconds. There’s some kind of a static at the background, an even rise and fall, and it occurs to Bucky that it’s earlier in Cornwall, two hours by the clock, even more if you go by sun. It must still be dark, maybe he even woke Steve up. He’s about to apologize, when he hears something unexpected. Steve starts laughing, and once he starts, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop.

Bucky feels confused, not to mention a little miffed at the reaction but also happy deep inside, because the laughter is loud and genuine, and Bucky can’t remember when he last heard Steve laugh like that. Maybe during the summer 1944, during one of the easier stretches of the war when they weren’t quite as pressed as they were most of the time.

“Good morning to you too, Buck,” Steve says when he finally recovers enough to talk. “Or is it even morning there? Anyway, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“It’s morning,” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t ask where he is, and he doesn’t tell. It’s probably silly, but he can’t quite shake that paranoia. “Not quite as early as there, sorry if I woke you up. And you just talked with me.”

“Still, it’s good to hear from you.” Steve is still definitely smiling on the phone. “And you didn’t wake me, I was up and out, looking over the sea.”

“Isn’t it still dark? Can you even see anything?”

Steve hums. “It’s not about that kind of looking,” he says, and Bucky suddenly remembers Steve, standing on a pier or a beach or a shore, thin and frail or steady and strong, looking across the sea. There always was a longing in Steve, the wanting to see things, do things. Now he’s probably gone further than he ever imagined, and Bucky wonders what Steve longs for now. He does have a pretty good idea, but it’s one of those that need to be handled carefully and not looked at too close. Instead he concentrates on the static at the background that must be the swell of the waves of the Atlantic, pushed by the fall winds.

“Was it?” Bucky asks again, because even if it’s something he can’t quite make himself look at, he still has to know. “Our first kiss,” he clarifies. 

It’s like most things in his life these days, either too beautiful or too horrible to stand, impossible to resist.

Steve simply says, “Yes.” No other elaboration.

Bucky ponders at it for a while, spacing out maybe longer than one should on the phone, but Steve waits patiently. Distantly Bucky thinks Steve has learned it from somewhere, he well knows patience never was Steve’s strongest suit. On top of his head he turns around the facts. He remembers how it happened during the war, how the physical relationship between them had come to play, but he doesn’t remember ever talking about it. In fact, he’s fairly sure they never did, which means ever since he called Steve out in Wakanda and confronted his feelings, they’ve been on a new ground. He feels like every foothold could crumble from under him. 

“Why didn’t we?” Bucky asks, a woefully incomplete question, loaded with everything he can’t form the words for.

“It wasn’t like that, back then,” Steve says, and Bucky can’t help but notice the gentleness, contrasting the frustration in the kiss in his memory. “It was a different kind of world, and neither one of us was ready to deal with it. We took the closeness and comfort, because we needed them just to survive the war, I think. We never discussed about it, never admitted it could be something else, and if —”

Steve pauses, and Bucky prompts him onward. “If?”

“If we’d made it through the war, I suspect it would have just ended between us. We’d have gone on to live our lives according to the societal norms. I don’t think either one of us was even remotely ready to discuss it back then, for a lot of reasons.”

“And are we now?” Bucky has to ask.

“Seems to me we’re talking fine,” Steve says and Bucky knows exactly the expression he’s wearing, the sardonic almost not a smile. “But I know what you mean. I suppose we are, maybe dying and all the rest helps to shed the hang ups. Mostly.”

“Guess it does.”

Bucky’s known for months that something has got to give at some point. He is tired, almost delirious with the lack of sleep, so it’s not really a surprise he ends up giving up here and now. Before everything, the fall and the oblivion, he never wanted to be away from Steve. After leaving Steve at the shore of the Potomac, he’s tried to run, only to be pulled back toward Steve every time, without fail. There are reasons why he thinks he shouldn’t let it happen, but right now they seem flimsy and insubstantial measured up with the fact that Steve knows what he wants, and has told Bucky what he can have if he too wants it. 

Here, in the abandoned house in Ukraine Bucky finally admits to himself that he does, truly. He wants everything Steve has to give. And in return he wants to give Steve whatever it is he has to give.

Only admitting it to himself doesn’t mean he can just ask Steve to come and pick him up, not yet. But it means something, and he wants to tell Steve so he doesn’t have to live in doubt over where they’re headed.

“There are still things I need to work on, in my head. I need a bit more time,” Bucky says, and can practically hear Steve smiling. He doesn’t have the words yet, the full admission, and so he ends up asking, “How do you think spring in Cornwall is?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, quiet, his voice wavering, but for now it’s not a bad thing at all. “I’ve heard the sunny days can be amazing, the sky seemingly going on forever. Must make it through the winter yet, but I don’t think it’ll be as bad as some of those we’ve had.”

“You should get back inside, you must be soaked through, I can hear the rain,” Bucky says, barely getting it all out before a big yawn escapes to punctuate the sentence.

“I will, if you get some sleep,” Steve says, and with his usual sixth sense hits the bullseye again. “You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

“Go brew your coffee and be the eccentric American of the neighborhood,” Bucky grumbles and Steve laughs at him again. “I’ll call you again soon.”

“Anytime,” Steve says, and they just end the call, no goodbyes or anything. It doesn’t feel abrupt, because it’s more like a pause in an ongoing conversation, hopefully one they won’t have to end in the near future.

Bucky falls asleep immediately after, and wakes up the next morning to the sound of rain pattering on the roof.

***

Bucky decides he’s bored with Europe, and heads toward east and south. The winter is bearing on, and he wants to find a climate that’s a little warmer for the upcoming months. These days he can tolerate cold just fine, but he doesn’t particularly want to. He always has more nightmares when it’s cold, about being locked into the pod and the cold stealing in. About lying curled in a dark cell, delirious with pain or numb with a head scoured too empty.

He walks, drives and hitchhikes. He avoids cities, sticking to more sparsely populated areas instead, and no one ever looks at him twice. He also talks to Steve. Their regular texting still continues, but now Bucky calls too, to ask questions, to tell about something he sees, to just hear Steve’s voice. He reads Steve’s journals again, and instead of trying to interpret things for himself, he asks about them and fits the answers in with the picture of Steve in his head, same and different from the man inside his memories.

Steve always answers, sometimes from Cornwall, sometimes from the base in Slovakia, sometimes he’s on the road, sometimes in Wakanda. Steve doesn’t ask too many questions from Bucky, maybe knowing that Bucky’s still not ready to give answers most of the time. If he were ready to face all the questions he wouldn’t be here, gradually moving farther and farther away from where Steve mostly spends his time.

Bucky does try to volunteer information, every once in a while at least.

***

Once Bucky talks about his aversion to cold while he’s in southern Russia, looking over the Caspian Sea. He can almost feel Steve wanting to ask why, all things considered, he wanted to go back to ice, but he doesn’t ask. It means Bucky doesn’t have to tell there was, and still is, a part of him that thinks he deserves it, deserves to be punished. He knows how that discussion would go with Steve.

“It’s not really the cold for me,” Steve says instead. “It’s the water. I came to when the plane was sinking and the water came in, and I couldn’t move. I still dream of drowning.”

The last comes out quiet, hesitant, and Bucky wants to say something that’s right, something that’ll make Steve sound less unsure. He wants to be reassuring, but it’s not really the kind of a thing that he has much experience with lately.

“But I know for a fact you jump out of planes into water without a parachute,” Bucky says and winces. Really not that reassuring.

Still, he can hear Steve smile. “Yeah, well.”

There’s a pause, as if Bucky should know something, and truth is, he does.

“You do it exactly because you have those nightmares. You always went for exactly what you were afraid of.”

It’s not that different from Bucky’s reasons either.

***

Reading Steve’s journals, Bucky comes to a realization which both surprises him and not. It’s never explicitly stated, but it’s there, underneath the words, buried deeper that Steve’s loneliness.

He calls Steve and says, without any other greeting, “You were angry at me for going into stasis in Wakanda.”

There’s a beat of silence at the other end, but then Steve simply says, “Yes.”

Nothing else, tossing the ball back to Bucky. 

“Huh. I would have thought it would take me a lot longer to get you to admit it,” Bucky says, somewhat impressed by Steve’s frankness.

“Probably would have, if it was just me, but Sam helped me understand that yeah, I was, and yeah, it was also anger at the whole situation and not just you, even if there was some of that too. And that it was okay to be angry, it wasn’t like I was taking something away from you, it’s just that needs of two people don’t fit together, always.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said. But it makes sense, and explains how you we’re so sedate about —”

“About you being angry at me, because you thought I gave you too much, something I shouldn’t? Yeah, that was the reason,” Steve easily admits.

“Pot, kettle, I guess. We do what we need to do,” Bucky says, and only then realizes it’s probably the first time he’s consciously allowed the sentiment.

“I would have thought it’d take you a lot longer to acknowledge that, you were always stubborn.” 

Bucky’s fairly sure Steve is smiling at the other end.

“What did I say about pots and kettles?”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, not like we didn’t used to be mad at each other all the time before the war. We did, and I’d be surprised as hell if it didn’t happen now. It’s not like it means —”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts, because there’s a tender note in Steve’s voice, and he’s not sure he can handle the actual words.

***

Bucky happens to see an article about him in a glossy American magazine forgotten on a table at a tiny cafe in Khairpur. He only glances through it before dropping it and heading out, needing to get away. There’s speculation on how he became the Winter Soldier, about whether something was always wrong with him and if he was a traitor already before the train.

He’s out of the city, sitting by the road in the middle of the night, his hand shaking when he hits Steve’s name on the phone. 

“Hi Buck,” Steve answers, sounding relaxed.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, he can’t, just listens to Steve’s breathing at the other end.

“Hey, are you there? Are you okay?” Steve sounds worried now.

“I’m here,” Bucky manages.

“But not okay,” Steve concludes. “Did you want to talk, or just not talk about it? Whatever you need.”

“I saw a thing about me, in a magazine.”

There’s a hiss of breath that Bucky knows is a sure sign of Steve’s anger. 

“What was in it isn’t true, they don’t know, and so they speculate and write what they think will get them readers. It’s trash. That’s not you, they don’t know you.”

Bucky rubs his temples. “I know.”

“Doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though. It’s tough when people try to put you into a mold they think you should fit in, decide things about you without knowing anything, and then treat that as the truth. I know. Hopefully some day they will know the truth about you.”

“Yeah, and there will still be people that hate me then.”

“Probably,” Steve says. “Doesn’t mean they are right, or that their opinion defines you. There are always going to be people that hate you, when you’re like us.”

Bucky knows Steve is speaking from experience, back when he chased after his own memories he read a lot, and he knows there are ways the public sees Steve that are not accurate, and that a lot of people tried to connect the concept of Captain America with things Steve opposes now and always did.

“You’re not what they think you are either,” he says.

“I know. Took me a while to get out of it, to stop trying to fit in the box they had for me.”

“I think I have ways to go yet,” Bucky says. 

“I know. And I do too,” Steve admits, and reminds Bucky again of the self-clarity he has gained. “But we’ll be okay.”

Now if only Bucky didn’t have to work so hard to believe it.

***

“Do you still feel like I’m running away?” Bucky asks, right in the middle of another conversation.

“Do you feel like that?” Steve asks instead of a straight answer. Bucky suspects sometimes he’s getting pointers from Sam on how to get Bucky to open up more. Steve continues, “I know you’re moving forward, so I don’t think it’s really running away. I suppose you’ll get somewhere some day.”

“It’s not fair to make you wait,” Bucky says then, and hears the familiar irritated huff from Steve.

“You’re not making me, I’m choosing this,” Steve says. “But I guess it’s progress because these days you acknowledge there is be something to wait for. And you know, it’s not like I’m just sitting here doing nothing while you’re gone. I haven’t put all my life on hold for it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So you take however long you need, and we’ll see where we end up. I’ve said it before, it’s not an expectation. If you end up deciding you’ll want nothing to do with me after all, the I’ll deal with that.”

Steve is so frank about it that Bucky finds himself wanting to reassure him, wanting to say out loud what he’s often almost afraid to even think about.

“I think there’s no chance of me wanting that. It’s just, well. Everything else.”

“You just take your time,” Steve says, and Bucky knows he’s smiling. “I’ll be here.”

***

“Sometimes I hallucinated you while I was with HYDRA,” Bucky says and it feels like a confession.

He’s been remembering more and more, even if the trickle of memories steadied a long time ago. Still, he finds new details every now and then, and lately this aspect of his captivity has cropped up. He remembers the flashes of blue, the voices from nowhere, and most of all the inexplicable longing. At the other end of the line Steve lets out a non-committal hum to indicate he’s listening but doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean, I didn’t know it was you, but sometimes I got flashes, echoes. I remember in the early days I heard your voice telling me to fight. Later it was less clear, just visions every once in a while, but you were always there.”

“I’m,” Steve starts but pauses. “Actually, I don’t know what to say to that.”

He sounds a bit sheepish, definitely regretful, and Bucky finds himself smiling.

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take. I bet your well-adjusted friend Wilson has told you it’s okay to not know how to feel about something.”

“Excuse you, he’s your well-adjusted friend too,” Steve says, sounding lighter.

“Lies and slander,” Bucky retorts, even if he’s smiling, and knows from the peal of laughter that Steve can tell.

Bucky considers for a moment whether to tell Steve what he’s been circling around, but finally decides to go for it, because if he can’t talk about these things with Steve, then there’s no one.

“Did you know that HYDRA considered killing you right after you came out of the ice?”

There’s a pause before Steve says, “No. I never happened upon anything like that, even if it was in the data dump.” Steve is silent for a second more, and Bucky can practically hear him thinking. “They considered having you do it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not surprised Steve figured it out. “It was right after you woke up and were allowed to live on your own instead of at SHIELD HQ.”

“In that god-awful Brooklyn apartment? Jeez, that place was depressing.”

“Guess so. They had me go out and find a place to get a good sight line on you without alerting the security detail. You had quite a lot of agents on you back then.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, not that they ever told me,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear the irritation.

“Anyway, it wasn’t a live mission, I was there to be ready, but not take action before the command. I remember thinking your behavior was odd for someone who had so many people looking after their safety, but it makes sense if you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, SHIELD had some funny ideas on how to integrate me back to society. But go on.”

“I was on that roof, and when I saw you, there was something, not recognition, but close. I remember my hand came off the gun, and I really don’t know if I would have taken the shot if they had commanded. It was too close to my experiences in the war I guess, the echoes too strong.”

“And they didn’t give the command.”

“No, they called me back and put me into ice and the next time I woke up it was for Fury.”

They’re quiet for a moment again, before Steve speaks.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Not exactly the heartwarming bedtime story,” Bucky says, knowing that it’s late in Cornwall.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s just, well. I guess you know.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “Good night, Steve.”

They hang up, and Bucky isn’t sure how he’s feeling right then. It’s not relief, at having told something specific to Steve and not be judged. It just is, and maybe that in itself is momentous. Maybe they are getting to a more comfortable ground where they can talk about these things without it being a huge thing. It’s somewhere they need to get, Bucky thinks, since there’s so much in their past that’s potentially loaded, and they need to deal with it all. Now Bucky believes they can.

***

Bucky’s in his small room in Chittagong, the old curtains drawn closed, watching the time on his phone. There’s noise on the streets but he lets it fade into the background of his consciousness. Seconds tick on, and as he watches the numbers on the screen switch from 23:59 to 00:00. It’s the start of another year.

It feels meaningful, in a way a change of a year hasn’t in a long time. He remembers back when he lived in Brooklyn, New Years was a time for wishes and for resolutions. Later on the front he spent both times the year changed in a ditch, mostly miserable. With HYDRA he remembers being on a mission once over the change of the year, but then it had been only another factor to take into account, not of any personal significance. Time moved unnaturally for him then, and he always took in what year it was when he woke up if he could, and calculated how much change he should expect.

After the helicarriers he spent two New Year’s Days on the run, mostly staying away from any kind of celebrations, since fireworks made him uncomfortable. Not the way it often is for soldiers, the loud noises don’t bother him now and didn’t then. The problem with the fireworks is that they  always bring memories of warm summer nights spent on a roof, looking at bright bursts of light over a river. Back then he didn’t particularly want those memories, didn’t want the yearning that came with them.

A year ago he was in cryostasis in Wakanda.

This year though, it feels like it matters. It feels like, not exactly a new start, because that’s something he both feels like he’s already got and also that it’s not a real thing anyway since past is always there. It feels like a change though, a promise. 

He’s not going to make a resolution, because he still doesn’t feel too sure that he’s capable of keeping any, but he thinks it’s a good time to look behind, and to look forward. Sometimes he’s not sure which is scarier, even now, and it’s almost funny. He knows his past and future are tied together and always will be.

During the time on the road, both after DC and Wakanda, he’s pieced himself together, has worked to make sense of the person he is now, after everything he went through. He’s looked back, unflinching at everything he’s done, at every bit of the blood that tarnishes his hands. At every black deed that has left a mark on his soul. He’ll always carry them with him, but he’s finally getting to a point where he thinks he can live with it, can believe he’s not tainting everything he touches.

It’s harder to look at things that were done to him. It’s harder to bring out the memories of Zola, who’d known who he was, who’d known what it meant to make him their pawn. Bucky still has recurring nightmares of Zola, of the small man in his white coat with cold hands and an array of tools, as well as the face on the screens underground, not leaving him in peace even after his death. Sometimes Bucky wishes he could go back to the room with the computers, wishes he could break everything, shatter the screens and rip every spool of magnetic tape out of their cradles and shred everything into tiny pieces. It might even help, but it’s out of his reach now, burned in a missile strike.

Sometimes he worries there are copies, that Zola isn’t gone, but he thinks it unlikely. If there were, they would have destroyed the bunker long ago. It must have been impossible to transfer the personality to another container, otherwise HYDRA would have done it.

Zola is one thing, and even if it’s hard, Bucky knows he’ll be able to deal with it. It’ll get easier as he settles more into just living on his own terms. Every step he takes ahead, every inch of himself that he reconquers is his revenge against Zola, who’d wanted him to lose himself completely. He hasn’t, he’s not the same he was before Zola, but he’s his own person. It’s enough.

It’s harder to look back at Pierce, because Bucky can remember how he instinctively never fought, how he felt drawn to Pierce. He knows the reason for it too, knows that an accidental uncanny resemblance made everything a lot easier for HYDRA’s American faction. Bucky thinks that one day he may be able to talk about his time as HYDRA’s prisoner with Steve, but this is something he’ll never mention, because Steve would take it on himself, feel guilt over something that he had no control or responsibility over.

When it comes to Pierce, Bucky often feels like his brain betrayed him, mixed the most important person in his life with something Steve has and always will stand against. Mixed the memories so that sometimes they feel like they’re tangled together in his head. The revulsion against it in him is almost physical, and yet it happened. 

Bucky hasn’t dealt with it yet, not really. He knows the difference now, knows the reasons. He also knows that it may have, in a perverse way, been lucky for him too, that his subconsciousness had accepted Pierce so readily. Otherwise the American HYDRA faction would have had a lot harder time controlling him with only a partial trigger set. Otherwise, they might have had to break him so thoroughly that there would have been no way out for him, nothing left to reclaim. And Bucky knows what the consequences would have been. 

Bucky knows all of it, and it doesn’t help at all. 

Pierce is dead, and all Bucky feels is relief, there’s no desire for revenge like there is sometimes with Zola. The relief is the kind that doesn’t set one free, doesn’t even lessen the fear, and definitely doesn’t wash away what happened. Bucky knows he’ll live with this inside his head for years to come.

Still, it’s New Year, and Bucky is going to move forward. Maybe that is the only revenge against Pierce too. Maybe he already got his revenge, since Steve is alive and healthy, residing in Cornwall. Since Steve didn’t die in the river almost four years earlier.

Bucky types his pass code and hits the speed dial for Steve, who answers on the second ring. Bucky hears Wakandan music in the background, indicating Steve is back in Africa.

“I guess I’m calling to you from future,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs.

“I hope it’ll be a good year for you.”

“So far it looks better than any I’ve had in a while,” Bucky says.

“For me too,” Steve agrees.

They don’t talk anymore, but don’t hang up either. It’s a comfortable silence, and Bucky doesn’t feel alone.

***

It’s the heart of the winter in Europe; when they spoke the previous night Steve said that there was snow even in Cornwall. Bucky on the other hand is walking down a beach in northern Khao Lak in shorts and short sleeves. No one looks at him twice, after all the place is teeming with European tourists, and the camouflage he was given in Wakanda means his arm is a lot less conspicuous than the old one.

He is always vigilant, even now that Steve and his team are such a big headache for HYDRA that they don’t have too many resources to spend on looking for Bucky whose value has diminished anyway with the conditioning gone. There are others looking for him too, and he has no intention of being a prisoner again. 

Since he’s keeping his eyes open, he notices a familiar form among the people on the beach. He keeps his pace calm while approaching. Natalia like him is dressed to fit among the tourists, in a loose summer dress and big hat. Her hair is darker now, and gathered in a bun at her neck. She’s standing next to some bags and towels, looking toward the sea. 

She hasn’t looked at him yet, although he can tell she knows he’s there. He thinks she’s giving him the space to decide whether he wants to interact or not. He could walk away, but he’s not going to. She was right, the last time they met, that they need to talk, and he’s ready now. He makes his way to her and drops his pack down.

“Have you taken a side job as a lifeguard?”

“Please, not with this hat. Can’t you tell I’m the most boring European lady on a vacation,” she says, not looking at him.

Right then a pair of kids, a boy and a girl, run to them from the sea, and Natalia hands out towels to them. 

The girl looks at Bucky with big eyes. “Who are you?”

He crouches down, even if he isn’t at all used to talking to children these days, and offers his hand to shake. “My name is Bucky.”

“Oh, you’re Captain America’s friend,” she says, smiling bright. “My dad says he’d like to have a shooting competition with you. Are you really good?”

Bucky’s taken aback a lot by her questioning, while figuring out they must be Barton’s kids. “I suppose I am,” he says, and decides to just see where it goes. “I guess we’d have to make some sort of compromise when it came to weapons, though. Bows aren’t really my thing.”

She just nods, and remembers to introduce herself. “I’m Lila, and that’s Coop. Did you come to visit us too? Like Aunt Nat?”

“I’m just traveling around, I didn’t know you were here. But I should catch up with your Aunt Natalia on some things, since we’re both here.”

They head to Barton’s place soon after, Natalia having texted ahead and assured Bucky that he too was welcome. The Bartons had decided to spend a winter in a warmer place than Nova Scotia where they live these days, and since it’s been quiet on the HYDRA front recently, she decided to visit them. Sam apparently is back in Wakanda, training a group meant to be a similar sort of pararescue team that he was a part of in the Air Force.

Bucky is welcomed in by everyone, and Laura hands the little Nate to him to hold. They spend a relatively quiet afternoon, and have an early dinner. Bucky feels more relaxed than he has in a while, probably because he doesn’t have to rely on only himself to spot danger.

***

Late at night Bucky and Natalia go to the beach. It’s time for their talk, but they don’t discuss it, they both just know. Going to the beach is a similarly quiet agreement. It’s an open space, they’ll be aware if anyone approaches, but it’s dark too. Probably easier to talk when they don’t see each other very well. It’s warm still, but in a way that is comfortable instead of overwhelming, and they sit down on the sand and look over the sea. The waves are small and steady, the sound soothing.

Bucky thinks back to when they first met; he remembers the young woman, capable and dangerous. Natalia is still that, but she’s different too. Just as he isn’t the same he was when they first met. He suspects that she understands a part of him better than anyone does, maybe better than anyone else can. There’s a kind of refreshing clarity about it, not having to explain or hide. The rest of him is another matter, he’s not so sure how well she understands the part that made it possible for him to walk away. He suspects that even though they both managed to get out, the reasons why are very different.

They’ve both come a long way, and yet here they are again with each other, connected through Steve. Bucky well knows that if Steve was out of the equation, they probably wouldn’t have reconnected. Of course, if one took Steve out of it, who knows what the world would be like. Would Loki have won? Or Ultron? Bucky doesn’t know. He does know that HYDRA would have won four years earlier if it hadn’t been for Steve, he has no doubts about that. HYDRA would have won and the two of them would be dead instead of sitting on a beach.

Looking at her, he thinks how funny it is how things work out sometimes. He knew her first, but she moved on and this Natalia, the one that goes by Natasha instead except in Bucky’s head, is Steve’s friend first and only then whatever it is that they have between them.

It’s not what he means to ask, but maybe Bucky shouldn’t be surprised by what comes out of his mouth.

“Does Steve know that we knew each other?”

“Yes, he does,” she tells him, and then continues, amused, “You gave it up actually, by calling me Natalia while you were with him. I hadn’t told him because when I finally knew I didn’t know how to say it. He asked, just a little while before you were brought out of stasis.”

“I hope it wasn’t too bad,” Bucky says and means it, he knows that this is one of the things Steve might get caught up with and not look at it from all the angles.

“It wasn’t actually. He did say he probably wouldn’t have taken it well before, me hiding it from him, but he said he’d realized it wasn’t his place to be angry about.”

“That’s a little unexpected,” Bucky decides.

Natalia looks at him, and even in darkness he can tell there’s a sort of softness that didn’t exist in her before. Her old handlers would have thought of it as  weakness, but Bucky suspects she’s all the stronger for it.

“He’s had a lot of time to think, and he’s changed and grown from when you knew him before you both got frozen.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m seeing it bit by bit. It’s tricky, I thought —”

“That you were the only one who changed?”

“Yeah. It’s silly, I know.”

“I guess it’s just natural, to try and find an anchor.”

“I guess. And hard as it is, I’m glad I do have one, from before.” He well knows she doesn’t have anything like that.

“It’s different for us in that you have something from before, and I don’t,” she says, pensive. “Not even myself. But then I never needed to have a conflict over what I lost, or that I should have fought against them. I was too young for that, so when I got out I didn’t have to wonder if I should try to rebuild myself.”

“It’s all fucked up anyway.”

“It is, but it gets better. I know it, even you know it. Might never be easy, but you know. We can make it through.”

“We were not made to quit,” he agrees, even if the thought tastes sour, and she must hear it in his voice.

“No we weren’t, but it wasn’t what they built that decided to leave, and to survive. Not for either one of us.”

“I know,” Bucky admits. “It’s still just a mess. Most of the time I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing for me, or for others. Usually I suspect it’s certainly not the latter.”

“I don’t know. I think, in a way doing right by ourselves we’ll do right by others, because it’s the only way out of this mess. We were both of us used, and after something like that we have to learn again how to be selfish. And after we’ve learned it, I guess we’ll have to learn how to not be.”

“And that comes by doing right by ourselves,” Bucky understands.

“But it must be the actual right thing and not the purely selfish thing. The kind of right thing that all too often is hard,” she says and Bucky smiles. “And don’t say it, I know who I sound like.”

Bucky just hums, and they sit in silence after that. Hours pass, and it gradually gets lighter. Finally, when the first rays of sun hit the sea, Bucky gets back to his feet. 

“Back when we met, I thought you were the most dangerous person I knew,” he confesses. “But I was wrong. They’d made me forget.”

She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “It’s always the ones that don’t bother hiding things that you need to watch out for.”

***

Bucky stays in Thailand for a while, albeit not with the Bartons. There’s still a risk that someone might recognize him, and he doesn’t want to put them in any more of a risk than they already live in. He moves around, sleeps in cheap hotels, under the sky or sometimes among the people living there.

He picks up  _ The Master and Margarita _ again, and from the very beginning of the second part he starts to suspect he’s getting closer to why Steve likes the book. It’s still a satire, and he still laughs at it, but suddenly there is a different kind of a story, one of enduring love, sacrifice and patience, and he finds himself caring about Margarita, about her path and her choices.

Sometimes he wonders if Steve sees himself in the story. Sometimes he wonders if what Margarita gets in the end is worth all the sacrifices she makes, even if she doesn’t really think of them as sacrifices at all. Most of all he ends up wondering if it’s meant to be reassuring that peace can be achieved without making it into light.

Reading the second half takes him a lot longer than the first, and it’s harder to get through. Sometimes he has to stop and put the book down for a while, but he never gives up.

Once near the end, he has to stop at another line, and without having seen Steve he knows this line is meant to catch him. It’s funny really, the way it’s written, it’s utterly ridiculous and yet there is a truth in it, something that resonates with him. It’s a harsh truth, and one that he almost doesn’t want to be a truth, and yet there it is. 

He also knows it’s the kind of truth Steve didn’t like to think of before the war, or even during it. He knows that the particular line might have soured the whole book for the Steve from before. Or maybe he wouldn’t have felt drawn to it so strongly in the first place.

He picks up the book and reads it again;  _ What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? _ There is something he doesn’t know, and it’s precisely what Steve now thinks about it, the man that is and isn’t the same he knew. He sends the quote and a row of question marks at Steve, and settles in to wait for the answer. It comes in a series of texts, Steve clearly guessing what he wanted to know.

_ I think there are two sides to that. _

_ I don’t believe that good is meaningless without evil, only that it’s all the more important in face of adversity. _

_ But I don’t believe in trying to scour the world clean of shadows, because they exist in all of us. _

_ Probably what makes us human. _

It’s all that Steve sends, and Bucky doesn’t really have anything he wants to say, so he puts the phone away, and continues on his journey.

There is an idea, one that he’s handling carefully in his head, one that still feels fragile, but maybe is strengthening all the time. He’s started to think that maybe he can be what he is, that maybe he doesn’t have to become something else to deserve some of the things he often doesn’t dare to let himself want. Because he does want things, he knows it. 

He’s starting to think that maybe it’s okay to be who he is now, and to find his own haven in the storm. And if that haven doesn’t look like anything he used to think it should, maybe that is okay too.

A couple of days later he’s talking to Steve on the phone again. It’s one of their lighter conversations, one of those that are more about just the act of talking to each other rather than what is said, until the end.

“I want,” Bucky starts, but can’t finish that thought. He decides to go as close to truth as he thinks he can. “There’s something I should say, something I want to say. I don’t know how, yet. But now I think I will, one day soon.”

Steve is quiet for a while, and when he speaks there’s the tiniest catch in his voice.

“I’m glad,” he says, such a simple and yet profound thing.

After that it feels like another lock has opened, and Bucky stops his aimless wandering and sets out again, this time toward north, and to east.

 

* * *

 

#####  Backward – Sixteen

Steve had often wondered whether there was something wrong with him like many of the kids around the neighborhood said. His mother always told him that it wasn’t true, that he was good as he was, but he still wondered. It wasn’t his slight stature or his wheezing breath that worried him, it was how he couldn’t feel at ease with other children. He was either too brash or tongue tied. Everyone but him made friends easily.

He saw the new family moving into the nearby building, saw the boy with a dark hair but didn’t much think about it. Why would he, because most likely it would just be another person to pick on him. Better to leave it.

He’d almost forgotten the new family some days later when he came across a few of the neighborhood boys pelting a stray cat with rocks. It was still on its feet, more scared than hurt when Steve yelled at them to stop. The end result was predictable, three against one, and he was much smaller than the rest. Still, even after being knocked down and knee bleeding, he got up and stood his ground. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

He would have gotten a thorough beating if the new boy hadn’t suddenly been there, pushing one of Steve’s tormentors down and yelling at them, clearly ready to match fists with fists. He was slightly taller than the others, and utterly fearless, hair tousled and eyes sparkling, and the trio decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. The boy turned toward Steve and the anger was gone like it never was there, a smile in its place.

He extended his hand to Steve and said, “I’m Bucky, nice to meet you.”

Steve introduced himself and shook Bucky’s hand, a little uncertain how to go forward. This was all new for him.

“Why’d they pick on you anyway?” Bucky asked then.

“Wasn’t that, I went in between them —”

Bucky didn’t let him finish before blurting out, “Well, that was stupid.”

There was a new flash of hot irritation in Steve, and he forgot to be self-conscious.

“They were throwing rocks at a cat and that’s not right,” he said, planting his fists on his hips, ready to fight again if Bucky insisted on being an idiot.

Bucky stared him for a moment, and smiled again. “You’re right, they needed to be stopped. You just need some better tactics than rushing at three boys bigger than you.” He pulled out a surprisingly clean handkerchief. “Here, you need to clean your knee.”

Steve took the little square of fabric, and after that it was easy. It didn’t occur to him to be self-conscious with Bucky anymore. Bucky told Steve about how they’d moved from Indiana, about their house there, and Steve told Bucky about Brooklyn, and all the things they’d be able to do.

***

Bucky and Steve became thick as thieves after that first fight. Bucky was Steve’s first real friend, and it was wonderful, more so than he’d expected. It was good to be called out to play, to be met with an easy smile, to have someone to spend the days with. 

With it came a new kind of uncertainty too, something that flashed into Steve’s mind sometimes. Most of the time he didn’t think of it, but there were moments when all that was in his head was the question, when was Bucky going to notice he wasn’t worth the trouble. It was quite clear that Bucky could have been friends with anyone, so why was he with Steve? It was a fear that persisted, would surface every once in a while as they grew up. It was a fear that would time and time again prove completely unfounded.

The first time it happened they were playing outside, running around, and Steve forgot himself, let himself get excited, and soon enough he was out of breath. The attack was mild at first, but with it came a panic that Bucky was going to see how weak he was and wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore, and he forgot to try and control his breathing.

Steve was fairly unaware of his surroundings until familiar hands held him and his mother spoke to him soothingly, helping him find the rhythm of breathing again. When the attack was passing, Steve saw Bucky kneeling next to him, face nearly white with fright. As Steve recovered, his mother explained to Bucky about his asthma and how he needed to watch out for it. Bucky listened intently and pressed his lips together, determined.

“Can you teach me how to help him, Mrs. Rogers?” he asked, and Steve felt more relieved by the words than the regained ability to draw full breaths.

***

The winter Steve was fifteen was going to be difficult regardless, they all knew it. Jobs and money were tight all around, and even when Sarah had a reasonably secure job as a nurse it was still tough getting through with the prices high and all the complications that cold weather brought. 

Steve was old enough to know how difficult it was, and he did his best to contribute, doing odd jobs here and there. His mother was insistent that he’d see his school through, she believed that education was a way forward, and Steve agreed, even if he never spoke about the reasons to do so. He knew he wasn’t suited to manual labor, as much as he liked to pretend he could do everything everyone else could. Being proficient with reading, writing and counting would possibly lead to a desk job, and stop him from having to live in poverty.

It was hard, even on the best years he still missed so much school that he always felt like he needed to catch up, but he was determined to make it. He had a dream of making his living through art, somehow, but he wasn’t quite sure how to get on with it. He still practiced on every scrap of paper and the cheap notebooks they sometimes could buy. Sometimes there were better supplies as a present, and those he always treated with reverence.

That year things were scarce, the odd jobs less frequent, and Steve worked hard at school, determined to succeed. Only it seemed that everything was against him. As soon as it started to get colder, he could tell his lungs weren’t doing well at all. He struggled through the fall, with occasional fevers and a cough that never stopped,  one that made his mother frown more than she usually did. 

Even Bucky caught on, looking more worried about it than usual. He came to see them even more often than he usually did, brought firewood for warmth and occasional oranges that he got who knew where. Bucky’s family was doing a bit better, with his father having a job that so far had been safe. Bucky was in his last year of school, working odd jobs same as Steve, albeit much more regularly. That was probably where the money came from.

Christmas celebrations were meager that year, more than usual, but at least Sarah didn’t have to work that day, and they could spend it together. Steve was doing a bit better, he had passed his exams before the break, and he felt optimistic that maybe the worst was over.

He should have known it wasn’t. In January it became cold, in a way Steve didn’t remember experiencing. It was hard to keep their apartment warm, and the treks to school and back became exhausting, because he could barely breathe in the frosty air. One day the heating at school didn’t function properly, and Steve spent the day shivering. By the time they were let out, he knew he was running a fever, and just hoped he’d make it home.

He wouldn’t have if he’d been alone, but they always walked with Bucky, who took one look at him and took a hold of his arm and relieved Steve of his books for the walk back. Steve would have protested, except he was already dizzy, and could barely walk with the support.

Steve’s mother was still at work when they came home, and Bucky bundled Steve into bed under all of their blankets, and boiled water to get him a drink. Steve could barely keep his eyes open, except when the cough wracked through him. He finally fell asleep into a mess of dreams. The next he knew his mother was bathing his forehead, and there was a stabbing pain at his side and his throat felt too tight.

The next days, Steve didn’t really know how many, were a blur of pain and delirium. He didn’t know if he slept, because it didn’t feel restful at all. Sometimes he heard his mother talking to him, sometimes Bucky. Sometimes he even tried to reply, but he wasn’t sure if he actually managed.

Later, there were other faces, and what he saw wasn’t familiar at all. When he finally woke up with his head relatively clear, he saw he was in the hospital, and that told him enough of how sick he must have been.

He was released a few days later, but he was still weak and couldn’t go out. When he was able, he started to go through his schoolbooks and the things he’d missed. Bucky came in every day and helped him study so that he wouldn’t be too far behind when he made it back to school.

Steve’s mother was careful about his recovery, and kept him inside a lot longer than he would have wanted, feeling guilty about the extra burden for her. Still, the guilt also meant he couldn’t well say no to her either. Even when he was finally allowed to go out, he thought to himself she’d been right, since it was still difficult to be in the cold, but he persisted, and managed. 

Finally the spring came, the sun felt warm again, and there started to be more work available. Steve felt hopeful again, that they’d made it.

***

The summer when Steve turned sixteen was as perfect as they had any reason to expect. It was warm and sunny, jobs were easier to find and they weren’t struggling that much at all. The pinched worry disappeared from Sarah’s eyes, and Steve thanked every day he saw her smile, as if she was perfectly happy and content.

Despite having been so sick during the winter, as summer came Steve felt stronger than anytime in recent years. Maybe it was just a contrast to the remembered weakness from only a few months back, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. As school closed over summer, Steve found a job delivering newspapers in the mornings. It suited him well even if it was more physical than he was used to; he got air and got to do the job during the morning hours when it was warm but not yet hot. It was the steadiest job he’d ever had, and even if it wasn’t much, it still felt like an achievement. 

Bucky had graduated and gotten a job in the docks, as a junior filing clerk for one of the companies. It suited him well, since he’d always been good with numbers. He still ended up hauling crates sometimes, when there were ships coming in or in a hurry to leave and they were short on hands, but mostly he worked in the office. His parents were proud as they should have been.

Sometimes Bucky came from work to visit Steve bearing morsels from foreign lands; strange dried fruit, sweets unlike anything they could get in Brooklyn, or little envelopes of fragrant spices that he gave to Sarah with a grin.

He was seventeen, with a bright future ahead. Steve could see how the girls in the neighborhood that had always looked at Bucky anyway for his good looks now displayed even more interest. And why wouldn’t they have? Bucky was good and kind, smart and funny and a good dancer, handsome and with good prospects. His path seemed set, and Steve felt like a bad friend for dreading the prospect of it as much as he did.

It was hard for him to articulate the dread he felt when he thought of Bucky living his life. It was the usual fear that occasionally came up, that Bucky would leave him, but it hadn’t felt that urgent in the recent years as it had in the beginning of their friendship. After a while Steve, despite his insecurities, had come to believe that Bucky meant to stick around. Still, now that they were at the cusp of adulthood, things were changing again, and Steve didn’t know what would happen. It was hard to believe that things between them could stay the same. 

He didn’t know what to do with the yearning in his heart for Bucky, because Bucky was there. He didn’t know what else he wanted.

***

Steve’s birthday that year was almost unbearably hot, starting from the early hours. Sarah had a late shift at work that day, and they had cake in the morning, just their own little celebration. Bucky came too, with a parcel that contained a sketchbook with lovely thick paper and a set of charcoals. It was a perfect start to a perfect day.

The heat got only worse as the day progressed, but for once Steve was healthy enough that he could take it. They went out and walked around the neighborhood, watching people celebrate the day and talking about anything and everything. It was comfortable as it got, and Steve wanted it to last forever.

They occasionally met people that they knew from school or just from being around, and some of them called out for them to join in celebrations. Steve knew they were mostly asking for Bucky and would tolerate him if only because it was the only way Bucky would come. It wasn’t fun on any day, but he especially didn’t want it on his birthday. Bucky seemed to notice it and just waved everyone away. 

In the evening they headed back home, popping at a store to get some cold lemonade. As it got dark they climbed up to the roof where they knew the fireworks would be well visible. That year there was no one else up there, and they sat down leaning to a chimney, drinking their lemonade. As the first colorful bursts popped in the sky, Steve relaxed and leaned back, conscious of Bucky’s warmth at his side where his shoulder was touching Steve, where their knees knocked together.

He was happy and yet, there was still something more he wanted. He just didn’t know what exactly it was.

***

On one Sunday in July they went to the Rockaway Beach to spend the day. It was crowded as expected since it was a beautiful day, and they ambled around at times, sat down at others. It was getting late and they were thinking of heading back when a group of girls Steve only knew by appearance but Bucky had occasionally talked to came up to them, and drew Bucky in the discussion.

It was the same as usual, all of them only had eyes for Bucky, or for each other, since they seemed to be trying to set Bucky up with one of the girls in the group, a pretty redhead named Susan. No one was looking at Steve, and he made his way nearer to water, looking over the glittering sea, trying to stamp down the forlorn feeling.

He’d always loved to look over the sea, to imagine what was on the other side of it and what the other countries and people were like. His father was buried somewhere in there, fallen in the Great War before Steve even really knew he existed. He wondered if he’d ever get to see those countries. It didn’t seem that likely. 

There was a part of him that yearned to get away, to find out something new, and another part of him knew that his happiness was already here, in Brooklyn. He sat down, letting the sound of the sea wash over him, drowning the conversation behind him.

Steve wasn’t sure how long it had been when Bucky dropped down to sit next to him, close enough that their elbows and knees bumped together. Steve had been staring at the sea, enthralled, but now all he could look at were Bucky’s hands and forearms, resting on his knees, one wrist loosely grasped in the other hand. Steve remembered when Bucky had been skinny and slim, but now his arms had filled up, muscles lined under the skin. 

Steve wanted, in a way that wasn’t really all that different from wanting to see the foreign countries. 

***

(With the hindsight that was perfect, when he finally could admit it to himself, Steve would know that this sunny day on the beach was when he finally fell in love with Bucky, the moment when it changed for him, and for them.)

 

* * *

 

#####  Forward – To The End

There is a message from Stark, short and clinical. There’s a location that Bucky figures out is a side street in D.C. Date and time, three days ahead. Make and model of a car, and details on personnel; three FBI agents, all highly capable. And one more thing, just the words;  _ the shield. _

Bucky isn’t stupid, he can see what Stark is suggesting he should do. He wants the shield back with Steve, now almost two years after he asked for it, with an argument that his father made the shield. Bucky thinks it isn’t really accurate to say so. Howard Stark  _ manufactured _ the shield. It hadn’t meant anything before Steve actually wielded it. 

Bucky knows better than perhaps anyone that the shield had grown almost to be a part of Steve, never far from his reach on the field, usually literally on Steve. And yet, Steve gave it up, twice, apparently without a second thought. First when he let it fall down from the helicarrier, with the stupid, too risky gambit that Bucky would not kill him, that Bucky would remember. It had worked, but the cost had almost been too high. Bucky still thinks he probably should even remove the almost, but he knows Steve wouldn’t agree with him. And even if he doesn’t like to think back, he knows he should probably respect Steve’s choices, as Steve has respected his, however stupid or selfish they were.

The second time was different, Steve left the shield behind, and with it the mantle of Captain America. It was then that Bucky understood how heavy it had become, when Steve instantly seemed different, less burdened. It has taken him many more months, looking into the history and lately talking about it with Steve, but he does understand why Steve gave it up. The concept of Captain America had no longer been truly his, because the outside world had bent it into a shape that didn’t fit Steve anymore, and that had been the breaking point.

Now Stark offers the shield back, in a roundabout way, and Bucky does find it amusing that he’ll be the one actually acting on the information. Because he will. Stark knows enough of him to be sure of that.

There has been talk of nominating a new Captain America ever since Steve left the shield behind, because of course Ross hadn’t let Stark keep it, it has been stored in some sort of government stash. Only the venture hasn’t ever gained universal support, regardless of who is getting nominated. Of course there are supporters for a new Captain America, ones that think Steve is unworthy or even traitor to the country, but there is a growing public that seems to think it should go back to Steve. Bucky knows there have been leaks of classified information about how the Accords have been enforced, and the prisons and lack of due process doesn’t sit well with gratifyingly large number of people. There are supporters for all of it, but there is also an increasing demand for their amendment, and dissent in the international community about them.

Now though, Ross somehow has managed to push through a nominee, some soldier that has gone through something they call a training program but sounds a lot like human experimenting to Bucky, and a new Captain America is to be named within a week. Bucky hasn’t asked Steve about it yet, and now he figures he won’t. He’ll just go and get the shield for him.

After he has it, he could give it to someone else to take it to Steve, Natalia for example. She’d do it, but she would also look at him like he’s being ridiculous, as she did when they last met, and she wouldn’t even be wrong about it. Bucky knows well she would have some choice words about his life choices, and on the other hand she understands perfectly why he’s living like he does. Only she’s Steve’s friend first now, even if she knew Bucky earlier. He wasn’t Bucky then, and that matters a lot more than one might think.

He sits in his truck at a rest area outside Edmonton, staring out of the window for several minutes before opening his texting app and sending a message to Steve.

_ How would you feel about picking me up from DC on wednesday morning at 0230? _

He hits send and only then does the mental calculation. It’s early in Cornwall, but the reply is almost instantaneous.

_ Sure. Where exactly? _

_ You know where,  _ Bucky taps and maybe it says enough that Steve doesn’t ask about anything else for now.

_ See you then.  _

Bucky puts away his phone and starts his truck. He’s got a long drive ahead, including making it across the border and scoping the scene before the time Stark specified. It’ll be tight, but he can manage.

***

It’s not difficult at all to get the shield. Blowing up the tires to make the team stop, jamming communication with leftover HYDRA tech from a stash that still hasn’t been discovered. Two of the agents are rendered unconscious as soon as they’re out of the car. The third, who’s holding the shield, has a gun trained at Bucky. She doesn’t shoot.

Bucky pauses, since he can tell she’s not shooting because she recognizes who he is, and decides to take a leap of faith. He nods at the shield in the carry case. “You’ve been tasked to deliver that to Captain America, right? Give it to me and I will do exactly that.”

She takes ten seconds, her gun steadily aimed at him while she thinks, but finally she lowers her weapon and puts it back into the holster, and hands the case to Bucky. He opens it and takes just the shield, since there probably is a tracker in the case.

“Knock me out,” she says, and he’s fairly impressed with her reasoning. It’ll give her an alibi, means the shield was taken instead of given, and she won’t be prosecuted. He gives her a somewhat gentler cuff on the side of her head, enough to leave a bruise but not likely to cause more than a very minor concussion.

He’s melted into shadows before anyone comes to. He has another case for the shield, one that works as a Faraday cage and will prevent anyone tracking it if there’s something still on it. He’s seven blocks away before he hears sirens.

***

Bucky makes his way toward the river bank, pacing himself so that he’ll arrive precisely at the time he gave Steve. They haven’t spoken after the agreement, haven’t even exchanged messages. To Bucky, it felt like there was nothing more to say, not now that they’re about to come together again, and this time he means to try and stay if Steve will let him. He’s done running.

He comes to the edge of the water ten seconds to half past two, and thinks back to four years earlier. It was day instead of night when he waded from the water to the shore. He left Steve there, barely knowing anything except he didn’t want to be HYDRA’s weapon anymore. He had a name, even if he didn’t really know the man it belonged to.

He isn’t the same man now, not the one that walked away from the shore, nor is he the one that was called James Buchanan Barnes up until people decided to give him another, one that didn’t suit a person. He’s something else now, and he’s just maybe starting to believe it can be enough. That he doesn’t have to fit into any old mold. 

The engines are almost whisper silent, but he can hear them, feels the wind shifting, and sees the shimmer in the air. The door to the cargo hold opens and he leaps inside as soon as he can fit through. Then he steadies himself, holding onto the hand railing as they rise and accelerate toward the sea. He’s up in the air, both literally and figuratively. He just has to trust he’s relying on things that’ll carry him. 

Steve is busy with the jet, scanning the radar, setting up the autopilot. He seems perfectly concentrated on his task, not talking or even glancing behind. After a few minutes they are flying level, safely over the sea and apparently not detected. Steve hits the release on his harness and slides out of the pilot’s chair. Bucky leaves his things, including Steve’s shield, leaning against the wall and steps forward to meet Steve. 

Now that they’re here he has no idea what to say, but Steve doesn’t seem to expect anything from him, not right then. He just pulls Bucky in, wraps him in an embrace, and pushes his face against Bucky’s neck. Bucky thinks he holds onto Steve too tightly, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind it either.

Bucky isn’t sure how long they stay like that, for once his automatic internal timekeeping just stops and he’s able to stay and not think about anything. Finally Steve pulls away a bit to look at him, and it feels like the biggest miracle yet that Bucky doesn’t want to squirm under the gaze. 

“What were you doing in D.C. anyway?” Steve asks and pulls Bucky toward the cockpit. Bucky stops to grab the shield case before he follows Steve, who continues, “I mean, there’s so much surveillance that I doubt you were doing it just for fun.”

“Being in the jet prevents trackers from working, right?” Bucky asks and when Steve nods hands him the case. “We need to look it through before we take it out of here,” he adds when Steve opens the latches and sees the shield. 

For a moment Steve is quiet, just running his hand over the paint. It’s still showing scuff marks from their battles in Siberia, and earlier at the airport. Apparently they hadn’t yet had a chance to polish it for the new Captain America.

“You stole my shield?” Steve finally asks, incredulous.

Bucky grins at him. “I’m returning your shield. Even you called it yours just now, so.”

“I hear it’s government property,” Steve says, but he’s not even bothering to hide his smile. 

“And yet they can’t find anyone to do anything with it.”

“I understood they did in fact decide on a new Captain America.”

“Doesn’t mean he could do anything with that, other than carry it around.”

“True,” Steve allows, and continues, “Well, this isn't half as bad as I thought it might be when Tony said there was about to be a surprise for me.”

“Who says Stark had anything to do with this?” Bucky asks, mostly because he knows exactly how Steve will react.

Steve just looks at him, raising his eyebrow, and the unsaid words are crystal clear.  _ What do you take me for? _ It exactly as Bucky knew would happen.

***

It takes only a couple of hours for the jet to reach Cornwall. During the flight Bucky carefully inspects the shield, both manually and with the tools on-board, and finds two tiny trackers that he crushes. Then he hangs it in the weapons compartment where it still has a ready made place, as the jet hasn’t been through too many changes since it belonged to the New Avengers.

The sky gets lighter too fast, with them flying toward east. Bucky returns to his seat, slightly behind Steve, or it would be if Steve didn’t have his chair half turned toward him so that he can both look at Bucky and keep an eye on the instruments while the autopilot handles flying. Bucky’s fairly sure every flying instructor Steve has had would be horrified by the half-concentration, but he can’t really blame Steve.

Mostly Steve manages to not look like he half expects Bucky to just vanish from under his eyes any second. It’s a fairly good effort. 

They talk, and they don’t. They don’t talk about any of the matters that Bucky’s been wrestling with ever since he was woken up from the cryostasis. They will, but it’s not yet the time, not on the jet. They’ll need a solid ground underneath them. Physical and metaphorical. Bucky is very aware that he’s coming onto Steve’s ground, somewhere Steve is familiar and he isn’t, but it feels fair. Safe. It’s not like he has any kind of solid surfaces of his own, no safe havens that are purely his and not given to him by other people. He knows he could try and make one, settle somewhere like he tried in Bucharest, but he’s not sure he’d succeed, largely because it’s not something he wants or needs. With Cornwall nearing, even if it’s Steve’s safe place, it doesn’t make Bucky feel like he owes something for the safety, and it’s enough.

Hopefully it is enough.

It’s morning when they arrive, sun just rising to the nearly cloudless sky. There is the shore, cliffs and hills falling into the sea, with little coves of sand in between. Beyond the shore are green hills and fields, slashed through with roads and hedges. A solitary house made of stone stands near the cliff looking over the ocean and Steve points to it. It’s only then that the question of practicalities occurs to Bucky.

“Wait, how do you store this thing? It’s not exactly like you can park a super-advanced jet on your driveway when you’re trying to lay low.”

“Not here,” Steve says, taking a slight turn, on manual control now flying low over the house. “Thought you’d like to get an aerial view of the surroundings first, though.”

They fly for a few more minutes and arrive at what for all appearances seems like a farm. There are several large sheds, and a roof of one of them opens, allowing them to land. Besides the jet, there are a few motorcycles and a truck inside, and a security system that looks like what Bucky saw in Wakanda. 

Out of the jet, Steve gestures him to the control panel by the shed’s door, and when Bucky lays his palm over it, it scans him and the lights flash green.

“Now you can get in here too, in case you need to get to the jet without me,” Steve says.

“What is this place?” Bucky asks as he climbs into the truck next to Steve.

“The Wakandans have safe houses around the world. T’Challa told me about this when I left, so I’d have a place to keep the jet near me.”

The drive back to the house takes nearly an hour, including a stop at a little town where Steve picks up fresh bread, some vegetables, and steaks. From the ground the lonely house at the shore looks perfectly ordinary, good for hiding because of it. There are no other houses visible, even if Bucky remembers seeing them from the air, some distance away, and the place feels solitary. Not quite what he expected.

“Why Cornwall?” Bucky asks Steve as he parks the truck on the driveway.

“Why not? Nothing much else, I guess,” Steve says and shrugs. “HYDRA can be anywhere, so it doesn’t really matter where I’m staying. Didn’t want to stay with Fury’s team, because then I’d just immerse myself in that. Wakanda is safe, but I was never much for the heat.”

“It’s pretty solitary,” Bucky says as he gets out and walks to the side of the house, to take everything in. As far as he knows Steve has never lived in this sparsely populated area, and everyone he knows is in other countries.

“Yeah, but it was something I wanted to try. I don’t mean to stay permanently. And I like the sea. There’s that.”

There a flash of memory, Steve’s slender back and hair colored by the setting sun, beyond him the endless stretch of the Atlantic. “You used to look across the sea whenever we went to the beach, thinking about the foreign lands and how you wanted to go there, see other places,” Bucky says, the words out without him having to think.

Steve looks past the house toward the cliffs that fall into the water. “And now I again look over the sea, towards home. Guess it’s something that sticks.”

***

The house isn’t that big; it’s two stories high with a kitchen, laundry room, storage and living room on the ground floor, bedrooms and more storage up top. One of the rooms on the second floor, the one with windows to the south and that gets good light is a sort of makeshift studio. There’s paper and notebooks and pens all around, an easel standing in the middle of it. There are no paints and canvasses though, and Bucky doesn’t have to ask to know that this place feels too temporary for Steve to really paint.

He wonders if Steve has painted at all since before the war.

After a brief tour they eat a late breakfast; eggs and bacon with fresh bread. They talk, and they don’t, in a way. They talk about inconsequential things, the surrounding countryside, the things Bucky saw on his travels. They don’t talk about what they mean to each other and how they will continue from now on. They don’t talk about their hopes, or dreams, or even fears.

There is a kind of jittery distance between them, shivering in the air, born from the time spent apart. Distance might make a heart grow fonder, but it also makes it grow more cautious, and they both are hesitant in a way they weren’t in Wakanda, not even when Bucky was fairly sure they shouldn’t have been so close.

Now he wants to be close to Steve again, and he finds himself second guessing, as if whatever is between them is made of spun glass, liable to shatter at any moment. He of course knows it’s not true at all, considering they have gone through depression and war and death, and more besides. They’re still both here, and still they both want to see what more there can be. 

Whatever it is between them, it might as well be crafted of vibranium, it’s as likely to be shattered now.

Still, Bucky hesitates on what he wants to say, and so he doesn’t say anything. He thinks he maybe should have thought about it in advance, but it doesn’t sit right with him, the idea of rehearsing something to do with him and Steve. He wants it to be as real as it can be, and it means it’ll likely be difficult.

He thinks back to the boy he once was, not carefree, because being Steve’s best friend schooled one out of that fast, but young, and full of hope. That boy wouldn’t have been able to believe a day would come when talking to Steve would be anything but easy. Yet here they are.

They spend a quiet day inside reading, or in Steve’s case sketching, puttering around the house, Bucky sorting out his things to laundry, and eating. Talking and yet not. It’s not uncomfortable somehow, even with the distance, and Bucky thinks it’s because they both know now that it’ll need time to wear down. They’ve both come to expect things to not happen easily, not even with each other, or maybe especially not with each other.

Still, even if the world has worn them down like that, it doesn’t mean they’re giving up. Steve has always been too stubborn for that, and Bucky will not leave him alone again.

***

Bucky hasn’t really slept during the last few nights, and when Steve gets bored watching him yawn they head upstairs to get ready for bed. Steve takes the first turn to shower before finding a set of pajamas and some fluffy towels for Bucky, and tells him not to worry about the hot water running out. 

Bucky spends a long time under the spray, feeling like it’s been forever since the last time. It hasn’t, but there’s something about motels that makes him feel less clean than he does now at Steve’s house. He rubs his hair as dry as he can and pulls on the pajamas, warm and worn soft.

They haven’t talked about the sleeping arrangements either. Steve has a guest room, but it’s dark when Bucky goes past it. Steve is sitting cross-legged on one side of the bed, the covers turned down on the other side too.

“Put out the lights,” Steve says, and Bucky does as he’s instructed before slipping into the bed next to Steve.

They lay on their sides, turned toward each other but not touching. Bucky can just see Steve’s outline in the dark. He’s warm, and he’s tired, so he lets his eyes slide shut. He listens to Steve’s steady breathing next to him, and knows he’ll be asleep in moments, and that there’s no need to wake up for perimeter checks.

There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

***

Bucky wakes up into the dim light of the day, curtains drawn to block out of the sun even when they're thin enough that it's not fully dark in the room. He's warm and comfortable nestled under the sheets and blankets, and he feels truly safe for the first time since he left Wakanda. It’s late morning already, which means he's slept for longer than he has since the last time he spent the night next to Steve. 

Steve is still lying next to him, on his side turned toward Bucky. Bucky's staring at the ceiling, hasn't really looked at Steve yet, but he knows Steve's awake, probably has been for a while. They're not touching each other; there's a careful few inches between them. It's a distance that could feel like nothing, could feel like an ocean away, but doesn't. It's just what it is, a simple few inches, there because they are suddenly cautious about touching but can't stomach being apart. There’s no need to question their meaning, because they both know where they stand with each other now.

There is the potential, always there, ever since they grew old enough to want, finally acknowledged. Now they will see what the truth of it is.

Absentmindedly Bucky turns around his left wrist and flexes the fingers. The mechanism inside is almost silent, but not quite; he can hear the low whirring, and the clicking of the metal plates. He knows Steve can hear it too. The arm is still a weapon, same as the old one, albeit closer to a natural arm too, with better sensitivity and feedback. It also makes it more effective as a weapon, makes him that much faster and controlled with it.

They could have made him a different sort of prosthetic at Wakanda, but didn’t. They could have made him less of a threat, and he’s grateful they did this instead. It’s been too long for him to be completely something other than what he was made to be. Now he makes his choices, and it’ll have to be enough.

Bucky keeps moving his hand, listening to the sounds, and says, “This’ll probably drive you up the wall someday. The sound.”

He’s still not looking at Steve.

“Probably,” Steve admits, easy and comfortable. “But then, it’s not like it’s the only thing about you that does it, so. I’ll learn to live with it.”

Steve shifts just a little bit closer, and they lay there, awake and relaxed in the warmth for a while more.

***

It is odd now to think how easy it was for him and Steve to touch each other before when they were just friends, or at least pretended to be just friends, even if they were very much sexually involved. The ease involved both the regular innocent touches, throwing an arm around shoulders and such, as well as the more intimate touching. Back then Bucky at least had decidedly not thought about what it all meant.

Now they keep a distance between them. They sleep next to each other but don’t touch, they don’t bump into each other while passing in the hallway or let their fingers brush when handing things over. It’s always there, the the distance of a few careful inches, or sometimes just a breadth of a hair, but it is there. Bucky knows they need it while they sort things out. All he can hope is for them to grow closer again.

Slowly they start talking about heavier things, often with careful workarounds, hints and half sentences instead of really committing to it. It feels like they’re both waiting for something, waiting for the floodgates to open.

Sometimes Bucky catches Steve looking at him, wary and uncertain, as if he’s expecting Bucky to disappear. Sometimes Bucky wakes up and there’s a pull inside him, almost a compulsion to take his things and just walk. It always dissipates the moment he sees Steve, as if he needs a reminder that he already is where he wants to be. Maybe what they’re waiting for now is for the uncertainty to disappear, for Steve to know in his bones that Bucky means to stay, for Bucky’s muscles to start remembering there’s no need to move on.

After coming back to Steve Bucky has had many quiet days, since HYDRA activity seems to be at a minimum, and there haven’t been any other crises Steve’s team would need to respond to. He’s spent a lot of that time thinking, replaying back the conversations they’ve had with Steve since they reconnected in this new millennium. He keeps coming back to how Steve said that all he wanted was to see what they could be, to acknowledge the possibility that has always existed between them. Bucky wants to give them that chance too, but he knows it’s only a chance, and however certain he might be that there indeed is love between them, unbreakable, unconditional love, he doesn’t actually know whether it is enough. It might not be. 

He has looked into the possibility that they may end up realizing that they actually can’t be with each other, either due to the time that has passed or just that they were never made to last the honesty needed for it, but he wants to try. It feels like it’s all that matters.

There are nights sometimes when he can’t sleep, and as he listens to Steve’s steady breathing the possibility of them not working out after all looms large. There are also days when it seems too ridiculous to even suggest that they won’t find a way for it to work. Either way, they still have ways to go.

***

It’s another early morning, a few weeks after Bucky came back to Steve, and the spring is marching on when he wakes up again feeling Steve’s eyes on him. Steve’s expression is utterly serious, the frown back in place. For a moment Bucky just looks at Steve before he reaches out and smooths the line between Steve’s eyebrows with his thumb. It doesn’t really want to clear out, but he can be persistent.

Steve huffs at him, letting himself fall back against the pillows.

“Don’t try to smooth my feathers, you asshole,” Steve says, with just a hint of a smile in his voice. 

Bucky knows what it means; it’s the first time after he came here either of them is acknowledging that they’re still not quite okay, instead of leaving it unsaid. Still, the light voice means that they probably will be, and maybe being able to talk about it is the first step.

So maybe they should talk, Bucky thinks, and some of Steve’s recklessness must have rubbed onto him, because he goes straight to a point he’s fairly sure is right there under the surface, the reason for the frowns.

“You’re still angry I left,” Bucky says, not asking because he doesn’t have to.

“No, not angry,” Steve starts and at Bucky’s disbelieving snort he blows out a breath. “Okay, maybe a little. But mostly I’m sad I guess, and I’m adjusting. And it’s not really anger at you, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, it wasn’t  _ not  _ my fault either,” Bucky points out, because he well knows that he decided to deal by running, and it wasn’t the only way he could have done it. He’s not sure if any other way would have been better, just different, and what’s done is done.

“It’s just shitty circumstance,” Steve says, sounding tired. “Getting over it will take time. For both of us. But I never thought it’d be perfect right out of the gate.”

“So you’ve said,” Bucky agrees, and asks the question that looms large in his head. “Do you think, that we’ll be —?” 

In the end he can’t finish the question, can’t ask if Steve truly believes they will be okay again, but Steve understands nonetheless. He turns fully toward Bucky, and his eyes are calm and steady.

“Yes.” 

Bucky believes him too.

“Although, for further notice,” Steve says, “if we have to do something like this, then okay, it has to be done. But let’s not float it like it’s the best for both of us, when it’s just utterly miserable.”

“You think we’ll be back at something like this?”

“Well, obviously I really hope not, but looking at our track record, I guess it’s a possibility. So from now on, you know.”

“Deal with things together if possible and if not then at least be honest about it?” Bucky guesses.

“Yeah, that. We can’t know what the future will be like, but I’m done self-sabotaging this thing we have. We’ve both done it before, because we’re both idiots, but no more.”

“Agreed,” Bucky says, and means it more than he remembers meaning anything in his life.

They get up to make breakfast, and there’s still the distance between them, the physical inches, but the emotional distance has been almost whittled away. That day Bucky doesn’t catch Steve looking at him as if he’s about to get his heart broken all over again, and he knows it’s not because Steve is suddenly better at hiding it.

He thinks that maybe they needed to be apart to heal some hurts, and it has been done. Now, to heal the rest they need to be together. It’s still an ongoing process, but for once Bucky is willing to believe they have time.

***

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling like something is wrong, but nothing immediately springs to his attention. Only after he’s satisfied they’re alone in the house he directs his attention to Steve, who’s clearly awake, apparently trying to retain the control of his breathing. 

Bucky doesn’t think about it, it’s only when he’s laid his hand on Steve’s arm he remembers to hesitate, and it’s too late by then. Steve let’s out another breath and seems to relax.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

“Fine,” Steve says. “It was just a dream. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Doesn’t matter. Besides, I’m sure I’ll end up waking you up too sometimes.”

“You haven’t had nightmares since you came back,” Steve points out.

“No, but I’m sure I will. Guess it’s that I know it’s safe here, so my head gives me rest, but it would be too optimistic to expect they’re all gone.”

“I know. But I’m glad you’re at least getting sleep for now.” 

Steve shifts and turns toward Bucky, who lets his hand slide down Steve’s arm and grasps his hand. They fall asleep like that, and wake up into the morning light, Bucky’s face pressed against Steve’s side, Steve’s ankle hooked over Bucky’s.

They go running, at a leisurely pace since they don’t want to take too many risks of being detected, even if there are no neighbors anywhere close. It’s not really exercise anyway, just burning some energy and getting fresh air. Bucky knows too that it’s a habit of Steve’s, to relax and let his head rest. Steve has said that when he’s running he can just let it happen, and not think about too many things. Bucky is happy to accompany Steve, because the running just for its own sake and not going anywhere feels free in a way not many things do.

They eat breakfast straight after the run, and Steve stays to glance through the news while Bucky takes the shower. Afterward, when it’s Steve’s turn, Bucky listens to the water and paces in the bedroom, having to turn every three steps since it’s all the space there is. He hasn’t dressed up yet.

The water shuts down, and Bucky could retreat, grab his clothes and get dressed downstairs and Steve would never know about his moment of indecision. But then, it’s not really indecision, and he knows what he wants. 

Steve comes into the room, and Bucky can’t say anything, can’t move other than to turn to look at Steve who pauses at the threshold. Ever since they came together again in Wakanda, it’s always been Bucky who’s taken the initiative, outside of that one kiss, the only kiss they’ve ever shared, at Fury’s base. Now he suddenly can’t, no matter how much he wants. It feels like it’s too much, as if he’s drowning.

Steve sees it though, and steps close, reaches to tug Bucky in against him, and when their lips touch it feels like breaking through to the surface and breathing again. The catch of Steve’s lips on his, the slick slide of his tongue is relief. Bucky finds his mobility again and pulls Steve closer, drags his fingers over Steve’s skin and the quivering muscles.

It’s only their second kiss ever. The first one happened in the middle of confusion and shock, and Bucky remembers kissing back but couldn’t really picture in his head afterward what it was actually like to kiss Steve. He’s felt a lot of guilt over it, and regret, because surely he should remember every detail. Here and now, he starts forgiving himself, because even if it was their first kiss, there was so much else heaped over it, and maybe it was the only kind of a kiss the people they were then could share. Now they’ve moved on, and a lot of the uncertainties that plagued Bucky then are gone.

Now he can fully concentrate on just kissing Steve, and learning how they slot together. It’s a soft and slow kiss, as if there is no rush anywhere, but there’s nothing light about it, nothing chaste. It’s the kind of a kiss that’s not about kissing but one that’ll lead into sex, and Bucky is absolutely on board with that. There is a slightest hesitation in Steve, in the way he flicks his tongue over Bucky’s lower lip, as if he can’t quite believe it either that they’re finally here, together. Bucky pulls Steve closer, flush against his body, and gently sucks his tongue in. Steve still tastes like the coffee they drank earlier, and Bucky nearly groans when he feels Steve’s cock filling through the towels around their waists.

One of the good things about them already having had sex before, even if they were both deceiving themselves by pretending it didn’t mean more than that, is that there’s no need to worry about any kind of modesty related hang-ups, and Bucky undoes the knot of his towel as well as Steve’s, and lets them fall down. Then it’s just skin against skin, familiar and perfect as ever. Bucky grinds his hips against Steve’s, and Steve lets out a sight. He drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers grasp at Bucky’s back to make it easier to gain friction. 

It’s perfect and they could come like this, just rubbing against each other. For a moment Bucky lets himself just feel the heat of Steve’s skin against his, the slide and catch of their hard cocks. They’ve done this before, in Europe against walls or on the floor in dingy rooms or behind trees, in their tent and one memorable time even in a river, after washing away blood and grime. They’ve done it before, and because of that Bucky now wants something else. Now neither one of them is pretending, and it means there are less barriers.

Bucky steers Steve the couple of steps to the bed and pushes him to sit down on the edge before sinking on his knees in front of Steve and pushing his knees apart. He takes a hold of the base of Steve’s cock with his left hand and bends down take the head in his mouth. Above him Steve lets out a half strangled groan as Bucky’s tongue swirls around it, as if he doesn’t quite remember even now that they don’t have to be quiet anymore. His hands find Bucky, one in his hair, a gentle caress and not pushing, the other sliding up the left bicep and toward the back over to where skin meets metal.

Bucky hollows his cheeks and sucks Steve further in, then sets out to bringing Steve toward the edge, losing himself into the firmness of Steve’s cock in his mouth, the still familiar scent of skin, and the soft caress of Steve’s fingers on his skin. Steve is breathing hard, moaning when Bucky firms his grasp a bit more. Bucky can feel his thighs trembling as he’s coming apart.

After a few minutes Steve brings his hand to Bucky’s jaw, easing him up. Bucky let’s out a displeased sound, even though Steve is quite a sight, flush dabbling down his chest and lips red and swollen as if he’s bit them.

“Wait, come here,” Steve says and pulls Bucky into bed with him. “I want you to —”

Bucky’s lost for a moment when Steve lets go of him and twists away to his nightstand, but he comes back and drops a bottle of lube in his hand. Bucky stares at it a moment before he realizes what Steve wants, and well. It’s certainly new. Bucky can’t say he hasn’t thought about it, both here and now, during the long months of separation, and even before, during the war. Even earlier than that, when they were barely more than kids, seventeen and sixteen, and didn’t know anything at all, but sometimes Bucky had dreams he determinedly pushed away when he was with Steve.

“You’re sure?” Bucky asks and Steve nods and smiles, pulling him into a kiss that’s all hot and slick and wet, slipping his tongue into Bucky’s mouth.

Steve settles onto his back and pulls Bucky with him and over him, between his spread legs, and it’s almost too much, simply the thought of fucking Steve. Bucky slots his lips over Steve’s again into a searing kiss, licking into his mouth. Steve relaxes under him, letting Bucky settle easier over his body. They kiss for a moment more before Bucky pulls up and moves down, mouthing over Steve’s throat and sternum while popping the cap of the lube.

He rolls Steve over and up on his knees and elbows, and preps him, opening him up while Steve pants and curses into the covers. Bucky leans over Steve’s broad back and mouths at the sweat-slicked skin, head almost spinning because it’s more than he could ever have imagined.

“Come on, stop stalling,” Steve gasps out, and Bucky pulls his fingers out, lubes his cock and lines up.

He pushes into Steve, slow and careful, biting his lip to keep his composure. He runs his left hand over Steve’s back, over the flexing muscles, and bends down to kiss him between shoulder blades. Steve pushes himself up on his hands and turns back to look at Bucky who chases his lips and presses a sloppy kiss on them before starting to move.

It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced, Bucky feels like he’s drunk, high on pleasure, and it’s not the physical side, not just the tight heat of Steve around him. It’s that it’s Steve, that they’re together and now they’re not pretending anything. It’s freeing, Bucky thinks, pressing again close to Steve, breathing the scent of his skin, tasting the sweat pearling over his back again.

Bucky pulls out and Steve lets out a hiss of protest, before catching on and rolling onto his back and pulling Bucky over him. Bucky seals his lips over Steve’s as he pushes back in and starts to move again. It’s not so much kissing as just breathing the same air now, Steve’s hands almost searing on his skin, clutching his hips and ribs. Steve throws his head back and Bucky presses his face at the crook of Steve’s neck, his rhythm stuttering now, chasing after his pleasure. He slips a hand between them and grasps a hold of Steve’s cock.

Steve goes taut and trembling, and comes over Bucky’s hand. Bucky fucks hims through it until he lets go and slumps over Steve, heart racing, breathing hard.

After a while Bucky slides off Steve but doesn’t get any further because Steve holds onto him, and they stay plastered against each other. They both drift off and wake up with the sun in their eyes, skin sticky and itchy, but content.

***

That night they tumble back into bed, but the mood is different, easy and relaxed instead of heated. This time they don’t leave any space between them, Steve pulls Bucky to lie half on top of him and they settle there.

Bucky’s not sleepy yet, and he thinks Steve isn’t either, but it’s not bad to lie there together, the opposite really. He’s comfortable, and it’s then that he knows he can finally talk about everything he’s guarded inside him, loathe to put it in words. He knows it’s because he couldn’t make himself believe Steve would understand, but now that they’re here, it’s really the time.

“I forgot how to fight,” Bucky says and feels Steve’s arms tighten around him, hears him draw a breath. “No, listen, I have to tell you about it.”

That night Bucky tells Steve of his time with HYDRA, scattered and out of order, the way his memories still are, but he tells about the conditioning, the words, the missions, the ice. He talks, his voice low, not looking up at Steve’s face. Steve is quiet and listening as Bucky asked, his breathing sometimes unsteady, his arms tightening around Bucky. He never stops Bucky, never moves away.

Later, probably hours later, Bucky finally comes to stop. He has put everything onto table, and surprisingly he’s not worried anymore. Steve stays quiet, thinking and absorbing what he’s heard. Finally he pulls Bucky even closer still, and presses a kiss at his hairline. 

“Christ, I missed you,” Steve just says, nothing else.

Bucky works his arm tighter around Steve, slips his hand under Steve’s body, and settles there. He’s safe, in every possible way he can imagine, right here in their bed.

“Yeah, me too,” he says. 

Even when Bucky didn’t remember Steve, is left unvoiced but not unknown. 

***

They don’t spend every minute of the day together. Both of them need to be alone sometimes, and it’s easy since they both understand that needing space doesn’t mean anything more complicated.

Bucky comes down a few days later, having spent a couple of hours working on his guns up in the small attic. He finds Steve in the living room, frowning at a relief map on the 3D screen projected by his Wakandan computer, marking spots on it. Clearly he’s planning for a mission.

“Is it HYDRA?” Bucky asks.

“When is it not?” Steve replies.

“When’s the hit?” 

Bucky moves closer to look at the plan. He doesn’t recognize the place, some kind of a warehouse. HYDRA’s been driven into corner during the last years, so it might be a new one. 

“As soon as we corroborate the information we have and get the plan ready. A few days, probably,” Steve says, and continues, “It shouldn’t be a problem, there doesn’t seem to be that much personnel.”

He flashes a reassuring smile at Bucky before he turns back to his work and continues making notes and marking the attack routes. Bucky stands there considering. It’s the first mission since he came to Cornwall, and it’s another time to make a choice. He doesn’t really need to think about what he’s going to do. He spent the previous year trying to decide who he is and what he wants to do, and now he knows. 

“I’m coming too,” Bucky says, and Steve looks up, sharp. Bucky half smiles at him. “You need someone looking out for your back.”

Steve just nods and that’s that, he gestures at the map and starts telling Bucky what they know.

***

Three days later they’re all piling into the quinjet, Natalia takes the piloting duties, and besides them there are Sam and Sharon. The base is in a small city, so the plan calls for stealth rather than brute force, which suits them well.

Sam spots the shield in its compartment. It’s always with them, even though Bucky thinks Steve probably won’t actually use it now since it’s very distinctive. It’s waiting for its moment, for when the world needs the kind of Captain America Steve is.

“Oh that,” Sam says. “I heard the American government was rumored to have misplaced it. The replica they have on their Captain America isn’t that convincing. Did Stark get it?”

“He just contributed to the conspiracy,” Steve says, passing Sam and Bucky. “The actual stealing was done by this other asshole.” 

He grins at Bucky and sidesteps out of the way of the punch that was meant to get him on the arm. Bucky doesn’t bother chasing after.

“I’ll have you know I was given it after I asked.”

“Not that the agent would admit it,” Sam comments, catching on.

They settle into the chairs as they take off into the air. When they’re steady and level, Sam shifts closer to Bucky and nods at Steve who’s going over things with Sharon.

“You know, I went to the Smithsonian after Insight, when Steve was recovering and being too irritable to stand.”

Bucky smiles faintly, he well knows what Steve is like when he’s bedridden. Only after the fact he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t be smiling considering he’s the reason why Steve was in the hospital in the first place, but Sam continues without a beat.

“There was a short bit of film, you and Steve, and I barely recognized him.” Sam considers a second. “Well, I barely recognized either one of you, but when it came to him, it was staggering how different he looked, how much happier. And even after, I never saw him that happy. Not until now.”

Bucky has nothing to say to it, he can’t really deny it, because he knows Steve is happier now than he has been, and he knows enough to be able to tell Steve had struggled ever since he woke up from the ice. Still, the assessment is startling. He also knows why Sam tells him; it’s his way of saying he thinks what they have is a good thing without actually having to use actual words for it.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, meaning the unsaid acknowledgment, and Sam nods.

“I’m guessing you’ll be a permanent member of the team now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and finds himself voicing the thoughts that have been on the surface ever since he decided to come. “You know, looking back to what I did with HYDRA, I guess this is something I should do. And I’m partly doing it for that, for, I don’t know, repentance.”

“But it’s not all that?”

“No. It’s just, it’s something I can do, so I’ll do it. Simple as that. And Steve needs someone to cover his ass.” Bucky glances at Sam. “Probably more than one person.”

“You’re right about that.”

***

The mission is relatively easy, but it’s still tiring; prepping and the attack and debrief all take time and energy. After they get back to Cornwall they nearly fall asleep in the shower before crashing into bed, sleeping for about fifteen hours straight.

Bucky wakes up with his face smushed into Steve’s back, arm around Steve’s waist. He rubs his nose on Steve’s skin, trying to relieve an itch without having to move. Steve is warm and solid, clearly awake based on his breathing, but not moving, and Bucky feels comfortably lazy. He doesn’t want to get up until maybe a couple of hours later.

“Morning,” Steve says, his voice low.

“Have you been awake for long?” Bucky asks.

“A while. No hurry anywhere yet.”

Steve shifts, inching a bit closer to Bucky and makes a pleased noise into his pillow when Bucky slides his arm tighter around his waist. Bucky rests his cheek on Steve’s back, and lets his mind drift. Steve seems to be content to do the same.

Ten minutes later Bucky breaks the silence again.

“I don’t know if I loved you before the train,” he says. 

Bucky knows it comes very much out of the blue, it’s not something they’ve talked about, but he has been thinking about it for months now. And it’s true, it’s tricky to know what he thought back then, how he felt about things he never talked about or acknowledged. He knows he wanted Steve, physically, even before the war, but love is trickier.

He expects Steve to stiffen at the confession but he doesn’t, he just turns on his back so that he can look at Bucky, his eyes sincere.

“You did,” Steve says, absolutely certain.

And yes, Bucky gets what Steve means, because he’s right. Of course Bucky loved Steve back then.

“Well, yeah, okay,” he admits. “But you know what I mean.”

After all, there are more than one kind of love, and Bucky can’t figure out what kind of love it was for him back then. All he knows is that it’s different now.

“I know,” Steve agrees. “It doesn’t matter, though. Then was then and now is now.”

And it’s the key isn’t it, all that matters is now. Bucky is a different man from the one that lived in Brooklyn, and he might have loved Steve in a different way from a friend, or he might have not. Who he is now loves Steve, in every way imaginable, fully and unconditionally. He knows for sure that even if he felt the same back before the war, he didn’t dare to admit it to himself. Now he does.

And not just to himself.

Bucky presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck so that he doesn’t have to look at him, and whispers into his skin, “I love you.”

He believes Steve understands he means it in every possible way.

Steve’s hand comes to rest in his hair and he brushes his lips on Bucky’s forehead.

“I love you too,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear he knows, and means it just the same as Bucky does.


	5. Between Two Words

Bucky wakes up plastered against Steve’s back in the early hours of morning. It’s still new, even if it’s been many months since they slept together after he was woken from cryostasis for the last time, and many decades since they used to curl up in the same bed for warmth during the Brooklyn winters. It’s early summer now, not winter, and he doesn’t need help keeping it together. There’s no pressing need, no guilt. The only reason he’s there is because he wants to be, and because Steve wants him there. It’s the simplest, the best possible reason.

There are some days and more nights when his head still tries to tell Bucky it’s not something he should have, that it’s not a sufficient reason. Most days he remembers that there are people, a lot of them, who think he shouldn’t have this, doesn’t deserve it. Earlier he would have listened, in fact he did listen to these thoughts for most of the past year. He doesn’t anymore. He’s decided it doesn’t matter, because what they have here doesn’t hurt anyone, and it certainly makes Steve happy. 

Maybe Bucky should be locked up somewhere, paying for his crimes. A past-him might have thought so. Now he doesn’t know. Maybe it would be justice, maybe it would make some people feel better. He just knows it wouldn’t make any difference. He doesn’t think it would make the world a better place. 

The thoughts come while he’s still waking up, slow and sluggish, knowing there’s nowhere they have to be that day. Most likely anyway. He pushes them away, because thinking doesn’t change anything. Neither does listening to Steve’s breathing, steady in and out, but it calms him these days. Now that he doesn’t have to worry about it stuttering or stopping in the middle of the night, it’s almost like meditation. It makes it easy to not think about anything. Makes it easy to just be.

And maybe he’s selfish, really he knows he is, since he is going to hold onto all he has with all his strength. This is a good life, and he’d fight anyone who would try to take it away from him, even for justice. It wouldn’t be right, but it is the truth.

Bucky rests his cheek against the back of Steve’s head, tightens his arm around Steve’s waist and drifts.

Steve wakes up with the sun, a habit he seems to have fallen into now that there is no schedule or artificial lights. Bucky knows exactly when it happens, he recognizes the tiny change in Steve’s breathing that rouses him from the reverie. He didn’t really fall back to sleep again, he doesn’t think so anyway, but it’s not like he needs that much sleep anyway. He’s also spent nights awake for a lot worse reasons than just not managing to fall asleep. Now he lets Steve roll onto his back and gather him in his arms, which he probably doesn’t even think about. It just happens, as if it is the most natural thing for Steve to do. Here, in their bedroom in the old house near the sea, it probably even is.

After a moment Steve says, his lips brushing against Bucky’s temple, “We should go run and make the neighbors stare again.”

“You are the world’s worst at hiding,” Bucky says. 

It doesn’t mean he’ll say no.

“Managed okay so far,” Steve just says, cheeky, and rolls out of the bed, nearly making Bucky fall onto the floor right after him.

They run, and the sun rises higher as they go. It’ll be a beautiful day, warm from the early morning. There’s not a cloud in sight. They follow the paths between fields that are getting greener by day, and finish the loop running parallel to the sea. The Atlantic stretches toward west, beyond sight, glittering under the sun. 

They keep an easy pace for them, but Bucky knows very well that it’s faster than a non-enhanced human being could keep up for as long as they do. They don’t have any close neighbors, but the fields don’t really offer that much of a cover, and they could be seen from far away. Bucky suspects there are at least some people living in the area that know who Steve is, maybe even who he is, but they don’t seem inclined at all turning them over to any kind of authorities. They treat them as if they are the eccentric Americans they pose to be, in need of a quiet life, when they go pick up provisions from the village. Bucky figures it’s not that far from truth really.

It’ll probably be one kind of an ordinary day. Bucky knows it’s maybe a weird way of thinking about it, to have several kinds of ordinary days, but it’s true for them. Maybe it even can’t be any other way, when they both have two names, two personas, two lives. It’s been a long time coming, and maybe it has been inevitable that they end up here, ever since the war. Perhaps ever since they met each other close to ninety years earlier. 

Over breakfast Steve reads Bucky snippets of news, and they end up speculating over baseball. The season is in full swing, and there are a lot more trappings around it than there used to be, the advertising and TV contracts and celebrity profiles, but the the heart of the game is still recognizable. They both followed the sport somewhat during the past year, and both have scratched their heads over who they are supposed to root for now since Dodgers have turned out to be traitors. 

“Maybe we should just draw lots,” Bucky suggests and snickers at Steve’s dismayed expression.

“I’m not taking the risk of ending up with the damned Yankees.”

“Watch out for the blasphemy,” Bucky says mildly and catches the slice of apple that Steve flicks at him in his mouth.

Bucky drives to the town while Steve does the dishes and talks to Fury. They make a pile of sandwiches for lunch and after eating they sit on the porch, Bucky reading and Steve sketching. It’s a day like any other, and maybe that’s why the realization shakes Bucky so thoroughly when it dawns on him.

He’s happy.

Absolutely, thoroughly, undeniably happy. And not just for that moment, but with his whole life. Not just because of the old house and quiet days, but also for how he no longer wants to reject parts of himself. He’s happy with it all, even the trouble and danger, because it is who he is, and he has found an equilibrium. It’s not perfect, not quite, but it’s enough.

He stares into distance for a moment, just marveling at the idea, trying to remember the last time he was as happy. He can’t remember. Maybe he never really was. It’s not necessarily because things now are overall better than they have ever been. He knows there was a summer when he was seventeen, when Steve was healthier than ever and there were no money troubles for once, a summer over which he was so happy he was bursting. And he had good times in his childhood. What he has now is somehow better though, because this happiness isn’t colored by uncertainty inside himself, nor is it shielded by innocence. Now he knows exactly what he is, what the world around him is like, and he accepts it all, because he knows he can deal, no matter what gets thrown at him. The happiness doesn’t rest in the house, in the open landscape of Cornwall, or the peace and quiet. It’s in the knowledge that he can find it now, this kind of peace, anywhere he chooses, because he lets himself. 

And because he knows himself, he also knows exactly what the focal point of his happiness is. He turns to look at Steve, who at some point has stopped drawing and is now looking at Bucky, a smile curving his lips, tips of his hair golden in sunlight. It makes Bucky feel short of breath to see. There’s no care in the world in Steve’s eyes, no hurry, no evidence that he’s worrying or even thinking about anything but the moment, anything other than what he sees. 

Back in the day, at seventeen, Bucky would have squirmed and looked away if Steve had looked at him like he does now. Bucky would have tried to not show being affected. He’s not seventeen anymore, though, but a full century and a year, even if he’s only really lived a part of that, and he knows who he is, what he is, and he’s comfortable in his own skin. These days he hasn’t got a single reason to hesitate when all he wants to do is bend closer.

So he does, he leans toward Steve and lets their lips touch light and lingering, only because it’ll make Steve drop his sketchbook and pull him closer with a warm, steady hand at the back of his neck. Bucky wonders how long it will take before Steve will have patience for slow and light kisses, ones that are just that. He gives it at least a few more months, and revels in knowing that he’ll get to find out, unless they are really unlucky at some point. He intends to make sure they aren’t.

Kissing like Steve does leads further unless there’s something they absolutely need to do, and Bucky has no problem with that. They end up back in the bedroom, golden light streaming through the window and defining the dips and planes of Steve’s body when he moves over Bucky. There is no rush, and they keep an easy pace, enjoying touching each other, being as close as they can physically get. Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s hips, fists a hand in Steve’s hair and lets the sensations carry him up. There’s the determined roll of Steve’s hips, his quickening breath tickling at Bucky’s neck, the muscles of his back shifting under Bucky’s hands. It’s the easiest place in the world to be; in Steve’s arms, chasing bliss. It blooms at the bottom of his stomach and crashes all over Bucky, making him cry out.

It’s almost an out of body experience; Bucky floats in the sensation, and for a moment the real world recedes…

 

…until Steve settles back into his body, limbs heavy with the afterglow.

He stays where he is, lying on top of Bucky, every muscle relaxed. He’ll have to move soon or Bucky’s leg will go numb, but for a moment he’s not going to. Bucky seems to have the same idea, because he wraps his arms around Steve, holding tight, and rests his head against Steve’s. 

Steve always tries to hold on to these moments of afterglow, the times when it’s not about rush and need anymore. With the lives that they have, even if sometimes the quiet days seem to stretch on one after another, there’s always the knowledge that they could be called in at any moment. At any time they might be needed, to avert a crisis or to initiate an attack, and when it happens they will leave. It’s a choice they’ve made. Right now though, their phones are silent, and they are exactly where they need to be.

That evening they take a leisurely walk to the seashore and stop at the edge of the cliff looking over the waves. The sun is setting and the few clouds toward the horizon are rosy pink. The wind coming from the west is warm the way it is on clear summer days, gently flitting around the few stray strands of hair that have come loose from the bun at the back of Bucky’s head. The Atlantic stretches ahead of them, seemingly endless, the blue of it disappearing into haze at the horizon.

“You’re missing home,” Bucky says and Steve startles at the realization that it’s true. 

He didn’t even notice it until Bucky spoke, but now that he thinks about it, he knows Bucky is right. He doesn’t always miss Brooklyn, not every day or even every week, and most of the time he’s fairly secure in the feeling that home is where he takes it, but sometimes it’s an ache inside him, missing the familiar streets, the smells, the feeling. Nothing is quite comparable. This day, or maybe just this hour, when they stand at the edge of the sea, is a time when the missing becomes real.

It almost feels like he should see it from here, the spot on Rockaway Beach where he stood every time he managed to get there, and stared across the blue toward east and south, toward foreign lands he never thought he’d see. It’s much about the romance of the thing, the endless seas.

The reality is that it’s over three thousand miles to Brooklyn, and even if the Earth was flat he probably wouldn’t be able to see a thing, not even with his enhanced eyesight. But the Earth isn’t flat, and from the height they are standing at, the horizon is less than ten miles away. And if he somehow could see along the curve, the shortest way across the ocean, he still couldn’t see Brooklyn, because the first landmass on the path is Newfoundland.

The facts flit through Steve’s head, mixing with the expectation, and they both feel like the truth, the two sides of a same coin. He’s okay with that. It’s like everything else in their lives.

“Do you think we’ll ever make it back there?” Bucky asks. “In a more permanent way than just visiting?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, and smiles. It’s again the same, one or the other, and Bucky if anyone will get it. “That’s how a part of me thinks. Looking at our lives, who knows what will happen next, what is the next big shift and where will it leave us.”

“And the rest of you believes that we will make it back,” Bucky concludes, proving Steve right. “It’s the same for me.”

Steve grasps Bucky’s hand into his, traces the grooves of metal with his fingertips. “Whatever happens, we know what we’ll do.”

“Run straight into it, because that’s how we are built these days,” Bucky says and Steve smiles and nods.

It’s the kind of a discussion that only a year earlier would have been difficult, maybe even impossible, and Steve considers for a moment just how far they’ve come to finally be able to accept everything, both about themselves and of each other. Even if they came to it from different angles and different wants, they were both made into weapons, and they finally fully live with the knowledge. It is what allows them now to be themselves, to take control and run into battles without flinching when needed, and it allows them to let go, to find the quiet moments when they can be just two men, nothing more, nothing less.

“I wanted you to be safe, you know,” Bucky says and Steve has to take a moment to replay their discussion, to realize that Bucky is still thinking about their life back in Brooklyn.

“Yeah, I know. There have been a lot of times when all I wanted for you was the same.”

“You also asked me to be a part of the team taking on the most dangerous missions in the war,” Bucky notes, mild.

“So I did. Sometimes there isn’t a good compromise,” Steve says, and thinks that a year earlier this conversation would have been a lot sharper as well. “Besides, there’s no way you would have stayed back.”

“True. It was such a common dance for us, wasn’t it. Trying to shield each other from poverty, grief, danger.”

“From yourself, the last time around,” Steve can’t help pointing out.

“From where I stand, it was more like trying to protect you from yourself, same as always,” Bucky says.

Steve laughs. “Right, because I can’t decide what I want. I guess we should have realized a lot earlier it was never going to work.”

“We always fought about not fighting, how ironic is that?”

“Sounds about right for us. We were never smart when it came to each other. Except for never letting go, I think we got that right. With a few bumps on the road.”

“I suppose it’s enough that any one time one of us holds on, gets us through when the other one can’t,” Bucky says and squeezes Steve’s hand. Steve hears all the things Bucky isn’t saying but that are there anyway.

It’s a realization that took Steve, took both of them really, a long time to learn. They needed to know themselves and each other first fully and truly. These days Steve thinks that one form of love, maybe the most difficult one, is learning to let go. To let each other go, even toward danger, and to wade in after and do everything to protect one another and everything they hold dear. That’s where their lives have always been heading, ever since the war and the serum, ever since they met during a street fight between boys.

Now it’s decades later and they are the mythical soldiers, ones that were not built for peace. They go by many names, and maybe one day they will settle into being Captain America and Winter Soldier again, and it’ll be unlike any other time in the history they’ve carried those names.

They are Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes; two men living their lives side by side, from Brooklyn to European forests to streets of D.C. to Wakandan heat and ice to Cornwall, and maybe even to Brooklyn again. Eventually. One day at a time, for as long as they have, without worrying about the next. Their happiness isn’t dependent on time or place anymore, because the shadows of death no longer scare them. 

They’re still a work in progress, but Steve finally knows the truth in the old saying, that it’s more about the journey than the destination. There are still ways to go, but they are happy now, and it’s more precious than anything.

Steve’s phone rings in his pocket, shrill and sudden, and they both know what it means. Time to go again. Bucky flashes a smile at him, bright and sharp, and Steve knows this life is where he belongs. Not because of any kind of predestination, but the simple act of choosing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are at the end of this massive thing, I don't even have words. Still feels unreal. Happy to have actually done it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <3
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://stellahibernis.tumblr.com/post/157409676332/these-are-my-hands-this-is-the-world).


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